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Copyright, 1885, IVT a v 1 A 1 QQfi Subscription Price 

by Harper & Brothers* IHAi lij loOU per Year, 52 Numbers, $15 


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IF LOVE BE LOVE 


.forest 3bjil 


By D. CECIL GIBBS 

11 


“7n Love— if Love be Love— if Love be ours , 
Faith and uv faith can ne'er be equal powers: 
Vnfaith in aught is want of faith in alL” 



Books yon may hold readily in your hand are the most useful , after all 

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. HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

1886 


HARPER’S HANDY SERIES. 


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49. Lester’s Secret. A Novel. By Mary Cecil Hay. . . . . 

50. A Man of Honor. A Novel. By J. S. Winter. Illustrated . . . 

51. Stories of Provence. From the French of Alphonse Daudet. 

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52. ’Twixt Love and Duty. A Novel. By Tighe Hopkins 

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so' 

IF LOVE BE LOVE. 

^ 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Discussing how their courtship grew, 

Aucl talk of others that are wed, 

And how she look’d and what he said, 

And back we come at fall of dew.” — T ennyson. 

Boisy-la-Reine! Have you ever heard of Boisy-la-Reine? Prob- 
ably not, and equally probable is it that ninety-nine out of every 
hundred Frenchmen could tell you no more about it than that there 
is such a place in the Departement of Seine-et-Marne, that they have 
seen the name in the Indicateur of the Chemin-de-fer de Lyon, and 
possibly may have remarked it on the fa9ade, as journeying south- 
ward the so - called express train from Paris crawled past the di- 
minutive Gave, which stands like an oasis of lath and plaster in the 
midst of a desert of forest. 

And yet, insignificant as Boisy -la-Reine appears to the outside 
world, the little straggling township, with its suburbs of white 
stucco villas surmounted by peaked and gabled roofs of stained 
pine, its dusty poplar -lined roads converging towards the^main 
street in which, a good mile from the railway, stand all the public 
buildings and nearly all the shops, is, in the eyes of its inhabitants, a 
place of supreme importance. Does it not contain its Maine, gar- 
risoned by at least three gendarmes ? Can it not boast of its Mar- 
ket-place, its college, its Palais de Justice, and its ancient Church 
of St. Gudule? And then, if to these material advantages be added 
its situation on the banks of a river navigable for rafts and small 
craft, and its proximity to a noble forest, surely it must be allowed 
that Boisy-la-Reine has the right to consider itself one of the favored 
spots of La belle Finance , and by so much the more of the entire 
earth? 

This pride of station is fostered and enhanced by the awe and ad- 
miration of the neighboring villages, by whom Boisy-la-Reine, ow- 
ing to the remoteness of the chef-lieu of the Departement , is always 
the town par excellence. 

In one of the side streets, taking its departure from the Place St. 
Gudule, opposite the church, and winding along the wooded slopes 


2 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


which border the river, stands a large conventual-looking building 
—or rather, collection of buildings— surrounded by a high wall of 
flints and mortar. Over the fancifully constructed iron grille de- 
pends a large black board, on which is written in massive gilt letters 
— Pendonnat pour les Demoiselles. 

To-day the short gravel walk, hedged in on either side by a mass 
of densely grown shrubs, which leads from the roadway to the maiu 
entrance of the building, is strewn at intervals with flowers, rice, 
and a few odd satin slippers. Glimpses are to be caught through 
the open door of excited female forms clad in gala attire fluttering 
from room to room and about the passages. In a long, low, white- 
washed apartment at the end of the hall two lengthy deal tables, 
flanked by benches to match, still bear evidences of a lately com- 
pleted meal, the festal character of which is demonstrated by a pro- 
fusion of flowers and remnants of ornamental cakes and bonbons. 
Evidently some event has occurred to galvanize the inhabitants of 
this domicile of staid routine and prim decorum into a state of re- 
joicing and excitement. 

The buzz of conversation, intermingled with peals of girlish laugh- 
ter, issues from a room on the right, into which a trim maid-servant, 
bedecked with ribbons and favors, lias just entered, bearing coffee 
for the assembled guests. 

Let us follow her into this, the state salon of the principals of the 
establishment, and make ourselves acquainted with the cause of 
this unwonted festivity. 

Near the door, busily engaged in conversation with M. le Cure, 
sits Mademoiselle Mathilde Delaforet, the eldest of the three maiden 
sisters by whom the school is conducted. This lady, clad in rich, 
yet sober-colored and somewhat old-fashioned silk, lias silver-gray 
hair and piercing dark eyes. These, and a certain stateliness of 
carriage, give her the air of one used to command, tempered, how- 
ever, by a cheerful and benevolent expression. 

Dispersed about the room are a score of ladies and gentlemeu, 
the former predominating as well in numbers as in conversational 
power, to judge from the constant rattle of their tongues. 

Centre of a small group of the male sex, all attired in evening 
dress and white cravats, although it is yet early in the afternoon, 
stands Mademoiselle Clarisse, the youngest of the Demoiselles De- 
laforet. This young lady — for such we suppose we must describe 
her, as she thus considers herself — is not without pretensions to good 
looks. Her vivacious mauners and ready laughter, added to a cer 
tain studied juvenility of attire, might lead a casual observer to 
place her on a much lower rung of the ladder of Time than she had 
actually attained. But the deception — if deception we must call it 
— is an innocent and easily pardonable one, since it leads her to cul- 
tivate graces and amiabilities which her sister Hortense, next on the 
rostrum, higher up, has seen tit to abandon as useless. 

The second Mademoiselle Delaforet labors under a highly roman 
tic and nervous disposition. Ever since the unfortunate termination 
of an early affaire de cceur — an episode which occurred in the far-off 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


3 


times, when their parents were alive and the three sisters were not 
compelled to labor for daily bread — Hortense has. posed as a femme 
incoinprise. Why she, more than the others, should lay claim to 
especial sympathy and compassion, nobody knows. Nevertheless, 
her rights under this head are firmly established, and “poor Hor- 
tense,” the only sleeping partner in the concern, is never asked — 
nor has it ever entered her head — to volunteer any assistance in the 
active work in which her sisters are engaged. This, however, does 
not prevent her from absorbing the lion’s share of the earnings of 
the establishment, nor from appropriating the best room, the best 
morsels that come to table, and the most comfortable chair in their 
joint sitting-room, for her private delectation. 

Like most people who suffer from their nerves, she is fretful and 
exacting, not given to express her gratitude when things are going 
well — the first to complain of any unavoidable discomfort, which 
her energetic sisters pass over with a laugh, or feel concerned about 
solely on her account. 

Notwithstanding these unamiable’ characteristics, both Mademoi- 
selle Delaforet and Mademoiselle Clarisse are genuinely attached to, 
and proud of “poor Hortense.” She it is who represents the hon- 
or and respectabilit} r of the family abroad. Her finge'rs are never 
soiled with ink, nor show traces of culinary labors. Her dresses 
are richer and more fashionable than those her sisters can afford 
themselves. Consequently, upon her devolves the paying and re- 
ceiving of visits, and the maintenance of a state and dignity befitting 
the family of a former Maire of Boisy-la-Reine. 

It may readily be imagined that for a great occasion like the pres- 
ent, when their salon is not only graced by the presence of the leading 
magnates of the town, but a real live vicomte — M. de Malslierbes, 
who possesses a small estate in the neighborhood, has gracefully 
accepted their hospitality — Mademoiselle Hortense has donned her 
choicest attire and most courtly mien. Nor need we hesitate to fix 
upon the little group with which she has contrived to surround her- 
self as the creme-de-la-creme of Boisy-la-Reine society. 

The portly gentleman, with a wide expanse of embroidered shirt- 
front, is Monsieur Bouchard — the reigning Maire ; and his spouse, 
the equally rotund dame, with blond frizzled hair, seated beside 
Mademoiselle Hortense, whose waist she tenderly encircles with a 
much bejewelled arm. 

Facing the two ladies, leaning on the back of a chair in an attitude 
of studied elegance, stands the Vicomte de Malslierbes. His coal- 
black hair is cut quite short, and stands up like a brush on his pear- 
shaped head. An aquiline nose of unusual proportions, which bur- 
ies itself in a long black mustache, worn with an imperial and pointed 
at the ends, gives a first impression of aristocratic hauteur and man- 
liness, which the shifty, irresolute expression in his gray-green eyes 
and the smallness of his chin afterwards dissipates. Nevertheless, 
the appearance of M. de Malslierbes is decidedly striking, and as he 
speaks, waving his gibus (the lining of which displays his coronet 
and monogram in gold and colors) to emphasize his words, or care- 


4 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


lessly passing his long white fingers through his hair, a silence be- 
gotten of admiration and awe falls on the little coterie. 

“How charming the bride looked!” he is saying; “never in my 
life have I beheld a more graceful apparition. Such eyes — such a 
figure — such a complexion — such lips — such feet! Ah! Mesdames 
— le ne vous des que 9a!” Whereupon he joins the tips of his fin- 
gers, and carrying them to his lips, impresses a fervent kiss upon 
them with an expression of indescribable enthusiasm. 

“Ah, M. le Yicomte, it is well the bridegroom does not hear you 
— or he would be uneasy!” cried out Madame Bouchard, wagging 
her head at him; “and not without cause— eh, mon mari ! Poets 
are always dangerous to us poor women. ” 

Monsieur Bouchard is a ponderous thinker, and not to be en- 
trapped into a sudden expression of opinion. He only stares vacant- 
ly at his better half, as though lost in admiration of her profound 
penetration. 

And she, good woman, knowing her husband’s peculiarity — one 
to which he owes in no small measure his present exalted position, 
since his silence is accounted to him as wisdom among a people 
who generally talk first and think afterwards — she, taking his as- 
sent to her proposition for granted, continues in a tragic whisper : 
“ For my part, although I like him well enough myself, I have my 
doubts whether this cold-blooded, hard-headed Englishman is the 
proper sort of husband for such a fiery, impetuous creature.” 

“Carmen Mendes is a little fool,” said Mademoiselle Hortense, 
with an air of superior wisdom; “and as for Monsieur Danvers — I 
appeal to you, M. le Yicomte, how can we designate a man who 
loses his heart through his eyes, and marries a pretty, brainless 
baby?” 

M. de Malsherbes was far too polite to openly contradict a lady, 
so he arched his eyebrows sympathetically. ‘ ‘ How, indeed, made- 
moiselle?” he began ; then stopped and gazed in dismay towards 
Monsieur Bouchard, from the depths of whose waistcoat a sup- 
pressed gurgling sound like the rumble of distant thunder was 
proceeding. 

The old gentleman was still staring fixedly at his wife, but a sud- 
den twinkle of intelligence had come into his beady eyes, and bis 
features were twitching with a convulsive movement. Presently 
he broke forth into a long, low chuckle, and then seeing that his 
audience was waiting breathlessly for his utterance, exclaimed, 
“Parbleu ! she is right, my little wife. He would be uneasy — and 
not without cause!” and then relapsed into silence — a silence which 
his wife did not leave long unbroken. 

As, however, her remarks, although piquant and interesting to 
her hearers, are principally speculative and baseless, we prefer to 
cross the room and give ear to the more categorical narrative of the 
circumstances culminating in this day’s proceedings, with which, by 
special request, the elder Mademoiselle Delaforet is regaling thie 
Church and the Bar, as represented by M. le Cure and Monsieur 
Goodchaux, the celebrated avocat of M . 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


5 

“You must know, then,” the old lady was saying, “that some 
five years ago Monsieur Mendes, a gentleman of Spanish descent, 
residing in Paris, but reported to have enormous possessions in 
South America, arrived here with his little daughter Carmen, a child 
of fourteen, with a view to getting her received into our establish- 
ment as an interne. He explained that, being obliged to return to 
Brazil on business which might detain him for an indefinite period, 
and his child being motherless, he was anxious to find a comfortable 
home for her, where her education would be attended to, while her 
bodily comforts were not neglected.” 

“And that I am sure he found here,” exclaimed Monsieur Good- 
chaux. 

“ Yes, I hope so, poor child. She was a reckless, fiery little sav- 
age when she first came to us, and though I cannot flatter myself 
that we have succeeded in making her all that we could have wished, 
still I venture to hope that our civilizing influences were not em- 
ployed in vain. She is cast in a different mould to our French 
girls, and, fond as she grew to be of us all, never ceased to chafe 
under the necessary restraints and discipline.” 

‘ ‘ Indeed, yes ; I remember well, you had sad trouble with her at 
first,” remarked the cure; “she was always trying to run away.” 

“Yes; and once or twice nearly succeeded. * She was passionately 
attached to her father, although he seems never to have paid much 
attention to her, but let her run wild like any child in the streets. 
And when, after two years, he not only failed to fulfil his promise of 
coining to fetch her away, but all tidings of him actually ceased, 
poor Carmen went nearly mad, and nothing would serve but that 
she must try and make her way out to South America by herself, 
without money and without friends. ” 

“It is quite a romance. I am all impatience to learn how the 
w r ild creature of your story became transformed into the lovely and 
accomplished bride whose nuptials we have had the felicity of 
celebrating this day,” cried the man of law. 

“ It was almost too romantic for us,” replied the lady, smiling at 
his enthusiasm. “For months we had to watch her like any pris- 
oner, and with all our care she broke away several times. Once we 
only stopped her at the station, where she had taken a ticket for 
Paris. Fancy a young creature of sixteen, beautiful as a dream, a 
perfect woman in person, though a very baby in knowledge of the 
world, arriving alone late at night in that Babylon! Ah, I shudder 
to think of it even now, and never cease to thank le bon Dieu that 
we recaptured our wandering lamb, and brought her back in time.” 

4 4 What resolution — what a will for a child of that age, even to 
conceive so daring a project.” 

“ You say well. Even then I doubt if we should have kept her 
without chains, had it not been for a sudden and violent affection 
which she entertained for Miss Danvers, an English girl, one of our 
pupils who had just arrived, and displayed some sympathy with her. ” 

“Ah ! so it is her brother, then, that Mademoiselle Carmen has 
married?” 


(j 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“No; a cousin, I believe. There is also a romance about the 
young man. But I fear I am neglecting my other guests. If you 
will excuse me, I will conclude my narrative later on.” So saying, 
Mademoiselle Delaforet rose, and,' beckoning to her sister Clarisse, 
joined with her in begging the vicomte to favor the company with 
a recitation of some of his own verses, a request with which he read- 
ily complied. 

As we are more interested to learn how Carmen Mendes, the belle 
sauvage, as she was nicknamed by her school-mates, came to be the 
bride about whom all Boisy-la-Reine was talking, than in listening 
to the passionate, but very amateurish, declamation of M. de Mala- 
sherbes, we will take the liberty of anticipating Mademoiselle Dela- 
foret, and continue the narrative from the point at which she broke 
off. 

Psyche Danvers, when she arrived at the establishment of the 
Demoiselles Delaforet (three years before the opening of our story), 
was a blue-eyed, golden-haired, high-spirited damsel of eighteen. 

Being the only girl out of a large family of bo} r s, her parents, who 
resided in Yorkshire, deemed it advisable that she should be sent 
abroad to receive the finishing polish which is not uncommonly sup- 
posed to be best attained out of our own country. 

Behind this avowed pretext lay the desire to get her away from 
the influence of her cousin Yere, a son of Mr. Danvers’s elder broth- 
er, who had quarrelled with his father, and whom they suspected 
of nourishing a tender liking for Miss Psyche. 

As a matter of fact, at that time the attachment between the cous- 
ins amounted to little more than a strong partiality on her part, 
augmented by a deep sense of the injustice her old playmate had 
suffered at the hands of his family; while he, smarting under his 
father’s harsh treatment, regarded with the warmest gratitude and 
admiration the only one of his relations who had the courage to 
openly espouse his cause. 

Yere’s father was a wealthy land-owner, who farmed his own es- 
tate, and ruled his family with a rod of iron. Essentially one of the 
old school, both in habits of thought and life, he was imbued with a 
thorough contempt for all new-fangled notions, and more particu- 
larly for that which asserts the reciprocity of duty owed by parents 
to their children. He regarded his family much in the same light 
as he did his horses and hounds, with a rough sort of affection ; ac- 
cepting, and even returning their caresses, when they were well-be- 
haved and obedient, but repressing with a promptitude verging on 
ferocity any attempt to act contrary to his will. A hard man of bus- 
iness and a keen sportsman, he could imagine no delight away from 
his farms and his kennels; and though well advanced in years, kept 
a private pack of harriers, with which he hunted the country two 
days a week all through the season. 

His family consisted of two daughters and three sons, of whom 
Yere was the youngest. One daughter was married to an officer in 
the army, and at Captain Compton’s earnest persuasion the old gen- 
tleman had consented to allow his eldest son to enter on a military 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


career. The second son, James, being a confirmed invalid, and not 
in any way fitted for a hard out-door life, the squire was reluctantly 
compelled to permit him to follow his natural bent and take Holy 
Orders. And this sacrifice he made with better grace, since the gift 
of the living of a neighboring parish was in his hands, and that 
from time immemorial it had been filled by some member of the 
family. 

Thus there only remained Vere, who could qualify himself to 
undertake the management of the estate when the old gentleman 
should feel called upon to abdicate his position of ruling autocrat. 

Unfortunate^, the youth had even less inclination for the mode 
of life his father had laid down for him than his brothers. 

His was a thoughtful, romantic nature of disposition, tinged with 
a deep-seated reverence and love for all that was beautiful and ar- 
tistic in life, and an equally strong aversion for its hard, cold, mat- 
ter-of-fact side. Much as he loved the country, the thought of slav- 
ing from sunrise to sunset, disregardful of its beauties, and only 
mindful of squeezing the largest possible amount of labor out of the 
men, and of crops off the land, was to him inexpressibly repugnant. 
He had not even the consolation of enjoying the keen, delicious, ex- 
hilarating delights of sport. From the time that his legs would 
reach across a pony,, he had hunted at. his father’s command, but 
though an excellent horseman, he felt none of the enthusiasm of the 
true votaries of the chase. The same applied to shooting, and even 
to the gentler art of fishing. He carried a gun or handled a rod 
because his brothers did so and his father wished it, but once free 
from observation, down went fowling-piece or fishing-rod, and gave 
place to his sketch-book, without which he never stirred abroad. 

His mother, a kindly and indulgent old lad}% was aware of Yere’s 
artistic yearnings, but regarding her husband as a serf does the Czar 
of all the Russias, dared not encourage them, and only counselled 
obedience to Mr. Danvers’s behests. 

Thus urged, Yere, who besides being of a peace-loving and un- 
selfish disposition, entertained a sincere respect and affection for his 
father, did his utmost to force himself to take an interest in the ca- 
reer which was thus arbitrarily assigned to him. But after four or 
five years of patient effort, during which he was constantly at log- 
gerheads with the old gentleman, owing to his w T ant of skill and 
forgetfulness, begotten of lack of interest in his work, finding the 
life entirelv abhorrent to him, he summoned heart of grace, and lay- 
ing bare his secret aspirations to his father, begged him to let him 
follow the only profession for which he felt himself suited. 

Had a thunder-bolt fallen at Mr. Danvers’s feet, he could not have 
been more dumfounded. For a moment lie was speechless, and 
then gave vent to his astonishment and wrath in a torrent of oaths, 
in which such epithets as “ ungrateful puppy,” “ d— d saucy young 
hound,” predominated. 

Yere was no coward. Although he stood pale and silent under 
the lash of his father’s tongue, he never faltered from his purpose; 
and when the vials of the old man’s wrath had spent themselves. 


8 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


returned to the charge, urging his reasons with a quiet determina- 
tion which brought on another outburst, and ended by his having 
to leave the room, to avoid a blow from his irascible parent’s hand. 

After this ensued a period of family discord and discomfort. 

Yere refused to resume his distasteful labors. Mrs. Danvers in- 
terceded in vain for her son. The old man was inexorable, and 
at last, sick at heart, and utterly alienated from his father, Yere de- 
termined to quit his unhappy home and seek a livelihood for him- 
self with liis pencil and brush. He first directed his steps to his 
uncle’s house at Scarboro’, where for a while he found shelter and 
sympathy — especially from Miss Psyche. Yere’s father, however, 
w T ho was as dogged and obstinate as any old hound engaged in the 
chase, no sooner heard of this than he wrote off, commanding his 
brother to turn the young rebel out-of-doors. As an inducement 
to prompt obedience, he offered the post left vacant by Yere to one 
of his nephews, hinting that, if he proved himself capable and obe- 
dient, he might even hope for more substantial favors later on. 

John Danvers, who always stood in awe of his self-willed senior, 
whom he regarded as the head of the house, and considering besides 
that he had a largo family of boys to provide for, easily persuaded 
himself and his wife that they had no right to run counter to his 
brother’s wishes in this matter, and so politely gave Vere to under- 
stand that his absence would be preferred to his continued pres- 
ence. 

Yere was not slow to take the hint and his departure, but not be- 
fore Miss Psyche had given her parents a piece of her mind, and 
had publicly promised to correspond with and do all in her power 
to help her favorite cousin. 

Scornfully rejecting the pecuniary assistance which his uncle prof- 
fered as a sop to his own conscience, Yere went up to London, and 
gaining admission to one of the schools of art, managed with his 
own small savings and the help which his mother, from time to 
time, was able surreptitiously to afford, to keep body and soul to- 
gether, and pursue his favorite studies. 

Meanwhile, Charlie, Mr John Danvers’s second son, was installed 
in Yere’s place at Danverfield, and Miss Psyche was packed off to 
Boisy-la- Heine in disgrace. 

One of her first actions on reaching the pension was to forward 
to Yere two five-pound notes out of her slender pocket-money, beg- 
ging him as a favor to paint her some little pictures for her bed 
room. 

The young man was deeply touched by his cousin’s generous be- 
havior, and not many months later Psyche received half a dozen 
charming sketches, which were the admiration and envy of the en- 
tire establishment, and became indirectly powerful instruments in 
determining Yere’s future destiny. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 

“ One fire burns out another’s burning;, 

One pain is lessened by another’s anguish.” 

Shakespeare. 

The first few weeks of her sojourn at the Pensionnat Delaforet 
seemed unutterably dreary to Psyche Danvers. This was her first 
experience of foreign life, and indeed of boarding-school discipline 
in any shape or form, and the sense of irksome and unaccustomed 
restraint was accentuated and imbittered by the recollection of the 
unhappy circumstances which had led to her banishment. 

In spite of a naturally cheerful and self-reliant disposition, when 
her father bade her a cold good-bye in the school-parlor and left her 
— the only English girl among a score of giggling, chattering for- 
eigners — Psyche’s heart sank within her, and she knew not where 
to look for comfort and sympathy. 

Her knowledge of the French language being restricted to the fee- 
ble smattering imparted by a daily governess at her own home, and 
consisting mainly of passages from Lafontaine’s Fables, Telemaque, 
and Ollendorfish sentences committed more or less accurately to 
memory, she found considerable difficulty in making herself under- 
stood. 

When her school-mates surrounded her and plied her with ques- 
. tions, she could not reply by spouting “ Calypso et son ile ” or “ Le 
Cigale.” Had they asked her “if she had seen the good wife of 
the industrious gardener,” she could doubtless have retorted with 
sufficient promptitude, “JSTo; but she had met the wicked baker’s 
large dog.” But alas! of all the colloquial phrases she had learned 
at so much pains, not one was applicable to present needs. And so 
poor Psyche was obliged to remain bewildered and silent, and hav- 
ing no one to whom she could unburden her sorrows, felt desolate 
and unhappy to the last degree. 

Mademoiselle Delaforet, who was kindness personified, was quite 
concerned to notice the falling off in appearance as in appetite of 
her new charge. It was just at this period that Carmen Mendes 
made her most daring attempt to escape; and as, after her recapture, 
all the other pupils, dreading her violent outbursts of temper, flatly 
refused to share her room, the old lady, thinking that both Carmen 
and Psyche, being strangers in a foreign land, they might feel drawn 
one towards the other, and mutually yield the sympathy and affec- 
tion for which each was pining, determined to try the experiment. 
Accordingly, Mademoiselle Dubois, one of the governesses, who, on 
the strength of having once passed a month at Folkestone, consid- 


10 


ttf tOVE BE LOVE. 


ered herself an accomplished English scholar, was instructed to 
sound Miss Danvers on the subject. 

Psyche was a quick-witted girl, but it required all her powers of 
divination to enable her to decipher the meaning of the proposal 
which her equally puzzled preceptress was endeavoring to explain 
in a confused jargon of English-French and French-English. 

Mademoiselle Delaforet and Mademoiselle Clarisse were present 
during the interview, and were lost in admiration at the fluency and 
facility with which their compatriot and subordinate carried on the 
conversation. 

“ C’est etonnant! elle a l’accent tout-a-fait Anglais, et des fagons 
insulaires qu’on pourrait s’y meprendre,” exclaimed the head of the 
establishment, as Mademoiselle Dubois, after insisting on a “ shake 
hands, ’’commenced the colloquy with, “I hope you are well, if you 
please, Mees Danvers. Good-day;” although this was by no means 
their first meeting that morning. 

When at last it dawned upon her that the object of all this pream- 
ble was to find out whether she would like the beautiful Spaniard 
to share her room in place of Mademoiselle Dubois herself, Psyche, 
feeling that she would be more at her ease with a fellow-pupil than 
with the little fat governess, who made nearly as much noise asleep 
as awake, gladly consented. 

Up to that time she had only caught occasional glimpses of Car- 
men Mendes, but what little her imperfect knowledge of the language 
had enabled her to glean from the other girls’ conversation about the 
“ belle sauvage ” had awakened in her a strong interest in the woes 
of her companion in exile. The very audacity of Carmen’s efforts 
to escape, and the defiant manner in which she submitted to lectures 
and punishments, respecting neither governesses, school fellows, nor 
servants when they angered her, but flying at them with the fearless 
ferocity of a wild cat, proved her pluck. And this was a virtue 
which Psyche, whose code was modelled to no small extent on her 
brothers’, largely esteemed. Then, too, the thought that Carmen, 
like herself, was far from home and friends, aroused her ready sym- 
pathies, and made her welcome her new companion with a warmth 
and cordiality of manner which more than compensated for her de- 
ficiency of words, and enthroned her at once in the affections of this 
beautiful, warm-blooded child of the South. 

At sixteen, Carmen, in form and perfection of development, was a 
full-grown woman. Lithe and active as a panther when roused to 
bestir herself by any of the wayward fancies or gusts of passion to 
which she w T as subject, in quiescence she possessed the languid yet 
stately grace of pose and carriage peculiar to the women of her na- 
tion. Her small and beautifully formed head was poised on a neck 
and bosom of faultless contour, the graceful curves and swelling 
roundness of which would have delighted the eye of an artist or 
sculptor. Jet black hair growing low on the forehead, so that its 
refractory waves almost touched the arched and strongly marked 
eyebrows, set off a matchless complexion which seemed to have ab- 
sorbed its delicate coloring from the sun’s rays like a peach grown 


If LoVe bfi ioVF. 


11 


on a southern wall. Add to this large, lustrous eyes, flashing bo 
many tints, according to her changing moods, that it was impossible 
to determine their exact shade of color, fringed with long, curling 
lashes of the darkest hue, a well-shaped nose, and a mouth large, 
mobile, and cherry-lipped, equally lovely when armed with kisses 
or pouting in petulance, and you have a portrait — feeble, doubtless, 
beside the original, but the best we can paint — of Psyche’s new 
friend. 

Carmen was well versed in French, and as this was their only me- 
dium of communication, her knowledge of English being a diluted 
and still more distorted version of that possessed by Mademoiselle 
Dubois, she set to work with the furious energy that characterized 
all her actions to instruct her new idol in the language which would 
enable them to understand each other, and exchange those confi- 
dences which form at once the basis and the charm of girlhood’s 
friendship. 

Psyche was amused at the dictatorial manner in which her junior 
took possession of her and ordered her about. She hardly dared to 
call a moment her own in or out of school- hours. Carmen was al- 
ways at her side, chattering to her, laughing at her, scolding her or 
embracing her, as the case might be. “ Hate-toi done pour que nous 
puissions nous comprendre et que je te fasse savoir combien je 
t’aime,” she used to exclaim when they were alone; and then, hang- 
ing round Psyche’s neck, would half smother her with kisses. 

In vain Psyche tried to make the acquaintance of the other girls. 
If Carmen were within sight or hearing, she flew at her friend and 
dragged her, laughingly remonstrating, away, while in tones of men- 
ace, half jesting half earnest, she vowed she would kill any of them 
who dared to take her Psyche — her angel, from her, or tried to steal 
her affections. 

Naturally warm-hearted and affectionate, Psyche gave way to the 
girl’s wild demonstrations of regard, smiling good-naturedly at her 
outbursts of jealousy and anger, which she felt bound to regard as 
complimentary to herself. 

Under these conditions their friendship ripened rapidly, and the 
elder girl grew to take a fond interest in her protegee, making her 
the confidante of all her little secrets and hopes. As a matter of 
course, her cousin Yere figured largely in all their conversations; 
and from hearing him so constantly extolled, he assumed in Car- 
men’s eyes heroic proportions, and became for her the model of all 
that was noble and lovable in man. His letters, his sketches, the 
accounts of his struggles and ultimate small successes, were wel- 
comed by Carmen almost as eagerly as by Psyche herself. 

Insensibly the young man was being wound into the life of this 
ardent child-wmman, this strange compound of tender susceptibili- 
ties and fierce passions, and elevated to the position of chief idol in 
her easily excited imagination. Like the Athenians of old, she had 
raised an altar “ to the unknowm God,” and was ready to fall down 
and worship at his first appearance. 

During the two years that Miss Danvers remained at Boisy-la- 


4 


IB LOVE BE LOVE. 


12 

Reine the friendship between the two girls was maintained unbro- 
ken, save by Psyche’s occasional visits to her home in the holidays. 

Still Carmen’s father made no sign ; and as the bankers with whom 
he had deposited the funds for her maintenance announced that 
these were exhausted, the poor girl was left a pensioner on the 
bounty of the Demoiselles Delaforet. 

At last the time arrived for Psyche’s final departure. She had at- 
tained the mature age of twenty, her education was supposed to be 
completed, and her presence was required at home. Moved by her 
friend’s sad position, the girl pleaded hard with her father for leave 
for Carmen to accompany her to England. But Mr. John Danvers 
felt that it would be a dangerous experiment to introduce such a 
bewitching, penniless creature as Carmen was at eighteen among his 
boys, and, like the prudent man that he was, positively declined to 
accede to his daughter’s request. 

Fortunately for Carmen, Mademoiselle Delaforet was more char- 
itable, and when, after keeping her for more than a year at free quar- 
ters, the good lady felt bound to disclose to her her dependent posi- 
tion, she generously offered for her to stay on in the capacity of 
pupil-teaclier, a proposal which Carmen gladly embraced. 

Under the softening influence of her affection for Psyche Danvers 
the girl’s disposition had vastly improved. Her nickname, and with 
it, to a great extent, the fiery outbursts' which had earned it for her, 
had become things of the past; and although her impetuous, fiercely 
jealous nature had not changed, she had learned, at any rate, to" con- 
trol and conceal her passions, and was worshipped and revered in 
the school, as much for her beauty as for her position— after Psyche 
— of senior pupil. 

The departure of her dearest friend and the concomitant realiza- 
tion of her own desolate condition induced a state of morbid melan- 
choly, which Carmen made but little effort to shake off. Her spirit 
seemed utterly broken ; and although Mademoiselle Mathilde and her 
sisters remained unremittingly kind and considerate, and Psyche, 
faithful to her promise, maintained a constant correspondence, a dark 
curtain seemed to have descended on her bright young life, which 
threatened a speedy and tragic termination unless some external ef- 
fort could be made to lift it, and give her a fresh interest in existence. 

Just when Mademoiselle Delaforet was beginning to despair, a 
combination indirectly brought about by her old pupil, Psyche, pro- 
duced the wished-for result, and the deus ex machind appeared in th6 
form of Vere Danvers. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE, 


13 


“ Not his the 
He thought 


CHAPTER III. 

mind to give the rein to dreams, 
in visions, but he lived in acts.” 


W. A. Gibbs. 


When Vere arrived in London after the rupture with his family, 
his first object was to find a lodging cheap enough to suit his meagre 
purse, and within easy reach of the Art School at South Kensington. 

Accordingly he inserted an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph, 
and out of nearly a hundred replies selected the residence of a Mr. 
Moggs, in the neighborhood of Shepherd’s Bush, as most likely to 
fulfil his requirements. 

There was something pleasant and arcadian in the sound of “ Rose 
Cottage, Holly -bush Lane,” which immediately took his fancy. 
Then, too, the terms were moderate — very moderate, taking into con- 
sideration the advantages offered by Mr. Moggs, or, as he judged by 
the handwriting, by Miss Moggs on his behalf. “ A widower, with 
one grown-up son and daughter who plays the piano ” (he was not 
quite clear whether it was the widower or his daughter whose tastes 
were musical), “can offer a comfortable home, board and lodging, 
to Y. D. on the terms named: cheerful society and use of piano Is. 
6 d. per week extra.” So ran the letter. Whether he should decide to 
avail himself of the “eighteen pennyworth ” of cheerful society and 
use of piano, or not, or whether he could have the cheerful society 
without the piano for 9 d. extra, the offer seemed a tempting one, and 
led to his making an appointment to call on Mr. Moggs the follow- 
ing evening between 7 and 8 p.m. Vere named this hour because he 
was given to understand that Mr. Moggs was engaged during the day 
in the City, and judged that he should arrive after the family tea and 
before supper, having a well-bred horror of intruding upon strangers 
during meal-times. 

Quitting his gloomy and dirt-begrimed hotel in the neighborhood 
of Euston Square, with the delightful anticipation of finding a cheap- 
er and more comfortable abode in comparative country, he entered 
the Underground Railway at Gower Street, and journeyed to Shep- 
herd’s Bush. 

The first disenchantment which awaited him was, on arriving at 
his destination, to find that the speculative builder had stretched his 
octopus-like arms over what was once undoubtedly a quiet country 
nook — if names mean anything — and converted it into a howling 
wilderness of bricks and mortar. Labyrinths of streets, countless 
shops, omnibuses, and tram-cars made the very notion of sheep and 
bushes ever having found a congenial existence there appear lucn 


14 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


crously incongruous. Notwithstanding that there was no lack of 
passers-by from whom he sought to elicit information as to the 
whereabouts of Holly-bush Lane, Yere wandered for what seemed an 
indefinite period up one road and down another before he discovered 
the object of his search in a short, melancholy little street terminat- 
ing in a cul-de-sac, formed by a dead wall and a large dust-heap. 

Holly-bush Lane consisted of about a score of semi-detached, sin- 
gle-story tenements on either side of the road, which presented the 
charming alternation of ruts, holes, and heaps of stones and rubble, 
incidental to these kind of newly opened districts, where town and 
country join, and local authorities are either powerless or supine. 

Evening was advancing, but there still remained sufficient daylight 
for Vere to be able to decipher the words “ Rose Cottage ” on the 
door-post of one of the dwellings. His heart sank within him as he 
compared the Rose Cottage of his imaginings and the actual bare 
lath-and-plaster villa of the type dear to the jerry-builder (and to the 
purchaser, too, for the matter of that, only in another sense). 

However, having made the appointment and come so far, he felt 
bound to go in. “ After all,” he laughed to himself, “ one can’t ex- 
pect a palatial lodging for 15s. a week, with breakfast, tea, and sup- 
per thrown in, to say nothing of cheerful society and use of piano 
for the modest additional charge of Is. 6 d. weekly. ” 

Opening the narrow, creaking iron gate, he crossed the few yards 
of flags which, with half a dozen stunted and soot-begrimed shrubs, 
represented the front garden, and knocked manfully at the door. 

In response to his summons, he heard a heavy tread in the pas- 
sage, and, after a violent struggle with the badly adjusted latch, the 
door was thrown open with a force which caused the whole flimsy 
tenement to tremble and vibrate. 

“ Blame the door ! Why the doose can’t they make the things 
fit?” cried a fat, jolly-looking man in shirt-sleeves, who stood block- 
ing up the narrow passage, and gazing mournfully at the remains of 
his “ church- warden ” fractured in the struggle. Then, perceiving 
his visitor, “I beg pardon, sir; I took you for Betsy — that’s our serv- 
ant — gone for the supper beer. Walk in, do. I suppose you’re Mr. 
Y. D. ? To tell the honest truth, I’d almost given you up. You’re a 
bit behind time; and then, you know, between you, me, and the bed- 
post, we’ve had so many nibbles, and ne’er a bite yet.” 

Vere was proceeding to explain the cause of his late appearance, 
when a shrill voice was heard from a room on the right, “ Now, pa, 
don’t keep the gentleman standing in the hall ; ask him to step into 
the drawing-room.” 

Whereupon Mr. Moggs threw open the door, and, bowing ceremo- 
niously, cried facetiously, “ ‘Will you walk into my parlor? said the 
spider to the fly. ’ ” 

“ Pa, how can you be so silly?” cried the female voice again; and 
as Vere entered the room he beheld a rather over dressed young- 
lady with a pasty complexion, washed-out blue eyes, and a profusion 
of yellow hair cut in a fringe over her forehead, seated at a small 
round table, and apparently engaged in fancy-work. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


15 


“Mr. Y. D.. my daughter, Miss Victoria Moggs; Miss V. Moggs, 
Mr. V. D. There, my dear, if I’d been a dook I couldn’t have done 
it better,” said her father, wagging his head like a Japanese toy fig- 
ure. 

“You mustn’t take any notice of pa. He’s always up to his jokes,” 
remarked Miss Moggs, apologetically, rising and motioning Vere to 
a chair. “ I’m sorry our servant is out. We had to send her with 
a message in the neighborhood.” 

“ With a jug, you mean, to the * Nag’s Head.’ ” 

“You see, we only require one servant, being a small family,” 
continued Miss Moggs, regardless of her father’s interruption. ‘ ‘ But, 
of course, if we had a lodger — a gentleman staying with us — and 
found we wanted another — ” 

“ Want ’ud have to be your master, my love,” said the irrepressible 
Mr. Moggs. 

“ Really, pa, you are too trying. How can I discuss matters with 
Mr. — ” 

“ Danvers,” replied Vere, politely. 

“ — Mr. Danvers, if you will keep acting the buffoon? For good- 
ness’ sake put on your coat, and try to keep silent for a few minutes. ” 

“That's the way the babes and sucklings trample on us ancients!” 
cried the funny man, pathetically, but nevertheless doing as he was 
bid. 

After a short conversation, in which the family arrangements were 
detailed in a business-like manner, the young lady proceeded to show 
Vere over the house. He remarked amusedly that she called the lit- 
tle back parlor “ the dining-room,” and the still smaller kitchen “ the 
domestic offices;” but as everything, including the spare bedroom, 
appeared scrupulously clean and neat, and the girl herself sensible 
and good-natured, for all her affectation of grand-ladyish airs, he 
came to the conclusion that he might go farther and fare worse, and 
willingly accepted the invitation to stay and partake of their supper, 
which both father and daughter cordially pressed as soon as he an- 
nounced his intention of becoming their lodger. 

“It ain’t business to strike a bargain without a wet,” said Mr. 
Moggs, jocularly ; “and, besides, you see, sir, looking at it from your 
point, it’s only right that you should have the chance of seeing that 
we don’t starve at Rose Cottage before becoming our boarder.” 

“ I’ve no fear of that,” replied Vere, politely. 

“Yes, but it's always better to buy by sample; that’s my motter 
in business, and a good one to stick to. Of course samples are gra- 
tis,” said his host, wishing to imply, in a delicate manner, that this 
meal would not be included in the account. Then, turning to his 
daughter, “ VVliat is it to-night, Vic— champagne and oysters, fol- 
lowed by all the delicacies of the season?” 

“ Sausages and mashed, if you must know, followed by cold mut- 
ton and cheese,” laughed Miss Moggs. 

“Ah well! never mind; I dare say we can manage to make a sup- 
per; and there’s Betsy come back with the foaming,” said her father, 
hastening to admit the servant with the beer. 


16 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


On his return, Miss Moggs, after whispering in her father’s ear, 
disappeared into the kitchen depar ment, leaving the two men 
alone. 

“She’s a rare good gal, that ! A first-rate cook and a capital 
house - keeper ; just like her poor mother. She’d make a tip-top 
business man,” remarked Mr. Moggs, after a short silence. “That 
reminds me, sir. It’s a mere matter of form — but it’s customary in 
these cases to exchange references. I travel for Pliilpot & Co., of 
Wood Street. Perhaps you’ve heard the name? The oldest house 
in the Manchester line. Worth a mint of money. If you write to 
the firm, they’ll be pleased to tell you all about me, for, man and 
boy, I’ve been with them nearly thirty years.” 

Vere hesitated before replying, with a slight flush of embarrass- 
ment, ‘ ‘ I hardly know to whom I can refer you. My people all live 
in the North, and I scarcely know anybody in London. Of course, 
if you insist, I can write to my uncle at Scarboro’; but, to tell the 
truth, I am, unfortunately, not on the best of terms with my family.” 

“Just as I thought! Directly I set eyes on you, I said to myself, 
‘It’s strange that a young gent of that stamp should want board 
and lodging at fifteen bob a week.’ Perhaps there’s a lady in the 
case?” 

“Could we not overcome the difficulty by my agreeing to pay 
weekly and in advance?” asked Yere, disregarding the too personal 
interrogatory. 

“ Why, yes, sir; I think we might in your case. I don’t want no 
telling to see you’re a gentleman, born and bred, and if you act hon- 
orable by us, we’ll do the same by you — references or no.” 

At this juncture Miss Moggs reappeared, her cheeks aglow from 
her recent exertions in front of the kitchen fire. 

“Augustus cannot be coming home to-night. It’s already half- 
past eight, so I’ve told Betsy to dish up at once,” she said. 

“All right, my dear. The young scamp is out on the spree again, 
I expect. He’s a rare trouble, that boy, so fond of theatres and mu- 
sic-halls — like his poor mother. Runs in the blood, I suppose,” re- 
marked Mr. Moggs; then, in an undertone to Yere, “Mrs. M. was 
on the stage before I married her. Charming creature!” 

Vere, somewhat embarrassed by these confidences, muttered a few 
unintelligible words in reply, and followed the young lady into the 
other room, where the “sausages and mashed” awaited them. 

In the course of the evening Vere learned a great deal more about 
the family and its affairs than he ever expected or even desired to 
know. But Mr. Moggs was an inveterate talker, and as there were 
only two subjects in which he took any interest— his children and 
his business— he naturally gravitated to these whenever his mouth 
was not too full to speak. However, he displayed so much affec- 
tion for, and honest pride in both, that Yere, who was himself nat- 
urally taciturn and self-contained, could not but admire the happy 
disposition of the man, and forgave his apparent vulgarity for the 
sake of the warmth of his heart and the good-natured contentment 
which shone through all his confidences. 


IF 'LOVE BE LOVE. 


17 


Daring the past week Yere had been so lonely and uncared for in 
his miserable hostelry, that ^the thought of living again under the 
same roof with people in whom he could find some interest quite 
gladdened him, and enabled him to shake otf some of his usual re- 
serve. 

Before he left, he had the satisfaction of feeling that the impres- 
sion he had made upon his new acquaintances was by no means un- 
favorable. 

Had he heard all the eulogiums which were lavishly bestowed 
upon him after his departure, he might have recoiled at the notion 
of having to live up to such a lofty standard as they, in their en- 
thusiasm at having secured so promising a lodger, were assigning to 
him. 

Although only of medium height, Yere’s well-compacted frame, 
which had just attained the full perfection of early manhood, show- 
ed unmistakable signs of breeding and strength. The open-air 
country life that he had hitherto led had bronzed his clear-cut feat- 
ures with the healthy glow so much envied by the pasty-faced dwell- 
ers in great cities. His hair, of a darker shade of brown than either 
beard or mustache, waved carelessly over a finely moulded forehead; 
while slightly protruding eyebrows and soft, dreamy eyes, of the 
shade that is termed blue, betokened the artist’s soul within. 

As to these external advantages he added a pleasant voice and the 
courtly mien of one who, respecting himself, respects others, it was 
small wonder that an apparition so unlike all their preconceived 
notions of “a real swell” — as gathered principally from flashy 
clerks and transpontine theatres — should have left a marked im- 
pression on the minds of Mr. Moggs and his daughter. 

On the following morning Yere removed to his new abode, and 
remained there for more than two years, a valued and respected in- 
mate. 

His days were fully occupied in attending the painting-classes at 
South Kensington, and ultimately at the Royal Academy Schools, 
where, thanks to his natural talent and persevering industry, he 
made most satisfactory progress in the art to which he had deter- 
mined to devote his life and energies. 

It was well for him that he had this all-absorbing passion to fill 
the void created by the painful rupture of home ties and old asso- 
ciations. 

He sought, in hard and unremitting toil at his easel, solace from 
the grief caused by his exiled state. Occasionally a hurried letter, 
blurred by his mother’s tears, came to shake his stern resolution 
never to darken the parental door again. But pride and a sense of 
unmerited injury restrained him from making the first overture to 
his self-willed father. 

Besides, he knew that, short of absolute and unconditional sub- 
mission, no appeal would have the faintest chance of reversing the 
fiat which had sent him an outcast into the world. And this, even 
in his softest moments, he was not prepared to make. 

The onlv remaining link that bound him to his old life was the 

9 


18 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


correspondence which his cousin Psyche contrived to maintain from 
her place of banishment. Her bright missives, full of tender solici- 
tude for his welfare, and playful narrations of her adventures at the 
Pension Delaforet, acted like a tonic upon his spirits when the dis- 
appointments and moments of discouragement inevitable in any ca- 
reer weighed heavily upon him. 

The praises which she lavished upon the lovely woodland scenery 
iu the midst of which Boisy-la-Reine was situated fired his imagina- 
tion, and filled him with an intense desire to transport himself thither, 
and make the mysterious beauties of the forest his special study. 
Then, too, her glowiDg accounts of the surpassing loveliness and 
romantic history of her friend, Carmen Mendes, and the more sober, 
but none the less sincere, admiration which she expressed for Made- 
moiselle Delaforet and her sister Clarisse, invested the little provin- 
cial town with an interest quite apart from its artistic merits. 

For a long time, owing to the state of his finances, Yere could see 
no prospect of being able to gratify this longing. But at last an al- 
most unlooked-for success at the prize competition of Art Students 
came to gladden his heart and free him from the trammels of grind- 
ing poverty. In recognition of his talent, the gold medal and a 
travelling studency, worth two hundred pounds, were awarded to 
him. 

Hitherto he had been obliged to paint to live. Now he would 
live to paint, and Boisy-la-Reine should be the theatre of his en- 
franchised efforts. 


CHAPTER IY. 

“ She was a phantom of delight 
When first she gleamed upon my sight.’’ 

Wordsworth. 

Great was Vere’s disappointment on learning from Psyche that, 
by the time he arrived, she would have taken her final departure 
from Boisy-la-Reine. 

“ I can’t tell you how sorry I am to miss seeing you,” she wrote; 
“but poor mother has been rather suffering during the winter, and 
wants me at home to nurse her. So father is coming to fetch me 
back next week, and I shall have to say a long farewell to dear, 
drowsy old Boisy-la-Reine and all my kind friends. Now that I am 
really going for good, I feel quite sad at the thought of partiug from 
Carmen and the Demoiselles Delaforet. Mademoiselle Mathilde is 
the kindest, sweetest old lady I ever met ; not a bit like an old maid. 
She says, in fact they all say, that they shall miss me fearfully, and 
Carmen declares she can’t live without me. I hope to persuade my 
father to let her come and stay with us. It will be so wretched for 
the poor girl to be left alone; for, out of the whole school, I am the 
only one to whom she is attached. The girls all used to call me her 
keeper; and really, when she was ‘ la belle sauvage ’ to everybody 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


19 


else (and not in name only), with me she was always loving and 
affectionate. I have never ascertained the secret of my influence 
over her; and to this day, although we are the thickest of friends, I 
confess that her disposition and character are quite beyond my com- 
prehension. Such a strange mixture of good and evil, of violent, 
ungovernable temper and angelic sweetness, surely never existed. 
However, if, after all, she remains, you will probably see her for 
yourself, and be able to form your own judgment about her, though 
I sadly fear your artist’s eye will bias your opinion; for whatever 
else you may think, I am sure you will be obliged to admit that she 
is the most lovely and bewitching girl you have ever seen. In any 
case, mind you call here, as I have told Mademoiselle Delaforet all 
about you, and she is most anxious to make your acquaintance, and 
promises to introduce you to all the best people in the town.” 

Although this letter, which concluded with repeated congratula- 
tions and the warmest expressions of cousinly regard, dispelled all 
hopes of a meeting with Psyche, it did not induce Yere to alter his 
plans. He had made up his mind to visit Boisy-la-Reine, and any 
determination once deliberately arrived at he did not. easily abandon. 

Accordingly, early in May, Yere took leave of the sorrowing 
Moggs family, and started for Paris. 

This was his first visit to the Continent, for his father did not ap- 
prove of foreign travel, nor indeed of travelling at all. The squire 
scarcely ever quitted his own estate, except for the chase, or to visit 
the country town on market-day or during the assizes; and he could 
not see why the life w r hich had been good enough for himself and 
his father before him should not satisfy his boys. Furthermore, to 
insure obedience, he took care while they were under his roof to 
keep their private allowance of cash so small that they had not the 
means to wander, however great might be their desire. 

Thus, to the delights of a well-earned holiday, Yere’s present trip 
added the charm of entire novelty. He loitered entranced along the 
gay boulevards, visiting picture-galleries, churches, theatres, open-air 
concerts, every entertainment, indeed, that was to be enjoyed at not 
too high a price. 

At last, however, as the summer wore on, the increasing heat and 
stuffiness of the great city made the thought of “leafy glades and 
forest shades ” irresistibly" alluring to his parched and jaded senses. 

Of all forms of toil masquerading in the garb of pleasure, sight- 
seeing to most people— always excepting our transatlantic cousins, 
who appear to be constructed of special wear-resisting fabric — is the 
hardest and most wearying; and having neither engagements to ful- 
fil nor farewell visits to pay, Yere’s resolution to depart was no 
sooner taken than put into execution. He arrived at Boisy-la-Reine 
late one Sunday afternoon, and chartered the only conveyance wait- 
ing at the station, which proved to be the hotel omnibus. As he 
drove along, Yere revelled in the sweet, pure woodland air, so dif- 
ferent from that he had lately been breathing, and noted with de- 
light the quaint and picturesque villas nestling amid the shade of 
the forest trees, beneath which white-coated pSres-de-famiUe and 


20 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


proud mothers in Sunday attire watched the noisy gambols of their 
offspring. 

After crossing the two bridges — for the river branched half a mile 
above the town, forming a large island sacred to bathing establish- 
ments and washerwomen — the vehicle lumbered up the hilly main 
street, and finally clattered into the yard of the “ Aigle Noir,”in the 
Place St. Gudule, with as much whip-cracking and uproar as though 
it had been a six-liorse diligence instead of a modest little omnibus 
with one solitary passenger. 

Yere was saluted at the entrance by a portly personage clad in 
white nankeen trousers and vest and a black alpaca coat, who was 
none other than Monsieur Bouchard, the proprietor of the hotel and 
reigning Maire of Boisy-la-Reine. The fair Madame Bouchard, who 
did not permit her exalted official station to interfere with her pro- 
fessional duties, sailed majestically out of her little glass - fronted 
parlor on hearing the omnibus arrive, and welcomed the traveller 
with that old-school cordiality and courtesy which has so complete- 
ly gone out of fashion with hotel proprietors of the present day. 

As it was on Psyche’s recommendation that Yere had decided to 
take up his quarters at the Hotel de 1’ Aigle Noir, he had, of course, 
been made aware of the high social position occupied by its worthy 
proprietors, and advanced, hat in hand, to make himself known. 

By the same rule, Madame Bouchard had been informed by Made- 
moiselle Delaforet that a cousin of her charming pupil, the “ Mees 
Anglaise,” would give himself the pleasure of lodging under her 
roof, and as soon as Yere mentioned his name the good lady broke 
into rapturous expressions of delight. Wishing to display her 
knowledge of English customs, she shook his hand repeatedly, call- 
ing the while to her husband, “Yenez-donc vite Antoine. Yoici 
Milor Danvers qui vient d’arriver de 1’ Angleterre !” 

Madame Bouchard had a powerful soprano voice, and as, in her 
excitement, she raised it so that her words must h^ve travelled right 
across the Place , and might have been heard on the steps of St. 
Gudule opposite, Yere was surprised to notice that M. le Maire, in- 
stead of rising from his seat under the awning stretched in front of 
the hotel, merely turned his head, opened his mouth, and gazed 
vacantly in the direction of his wife. Not so the smokers and 
drinkers lounging outside the cafe. 

The probability of witnessing a little theatrical display foreshad- 
owed in Madame Bouchard’s words, and the unwonted opportunity 
for gazing at a milor acted like magic upon the assembled citizens 
and holiday-makers. Cups and glasses were drained, chairs were 
pushed back, and in the twinkling of an eye Yere found himself 
the centre of a noisy, chattering crowd, which, however, quickly 
ranged itself, leaving a clear gangway to the chair of Monsieur 
Bouchard. 

In the mean time that great functionary had risen, and was ad- 
vancing bareheaded towards the astonished stranger. 

“ I wonder who the deuce they take me for, and why the old boy 
pretended not to hear at first?” thought Yere, trying hard to main- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


21 


tain his gravity and a demeanor worthy of the occasion — whatever 
it might be. 

Further reflections were cut short, for Madame Bouchard had 
again seized the young man’s hand, and dragging him up to her 
spouse, exclaimed, in tones of deep solemnity, ‘ ‘ Monsieur Bouchard 
—Monsieur le Maire de Boisy-la-Reine! que je vous presente Milor 
Danvers.” 

To which he replied, in equally tragic tones, “La France salue 
l’Angleterre! Monsieur, soyez le bien-venu;” and then, to Vere’s in- 
finite terror and disgust, proceeded to fold him in his arms and im- 
press a warm, moist kiss on each of his cheeks. 

A murmur of approval ran through the spectators during the 
progress of this interesting ceremony, and at its close several enthu- 
siastic citizens began to shout “Vive M. le Maire! Vive le Milor!” 

In vain Vere tried to explain, while bowing his thanks, that he 
was no lord, but only a poor artist. They either did not hear or 
would not listen, and from that day to the termination of his sojourn 
in Boisy-la-Reine, he remained “Milor Danvers” to the honest 
townsfolk. 

Meanwhile Madame Bouchard, who, with true dramatic instinct, 
decided to drop the curtain before the effect of the situation should 
wear off, signalled to her bewildered guest to follow her into the 
house, and once there, promptly descended from the lofty pedestal 
on which she had been posing, and became again the amiable and 
obliging mistress of the Hotel de l’Aigle Noir. 

After dinner, Vere, learning from Madame Bouchard that the 
Demoiselles Delaforet always received their friends on Sunday even- 
ings, and furthermore, that she herself was going there, and would 
be glad of his escort, decided to accompany her. Little as he fancied 
anybody’s patronage in the general way, Vere was heartily amused 
at the combination of motherly and naively grandiose protection 
which the good lady seemed disposed to extend to him. 

Arrived at the Pension, Madame Bouchard and her protege were 
ushered into the grand salon, where the three sisters were sitting in 
state, attended by the resident governesses and three or four of the 
senior girls. The rest of the company consisted of the Cure of St. 
Gudule, the medical man attached to the school a (Dr. Bernard), and 
half a dozen lady visitors — friends of the girls or of the principals. 

Vere’s entrance was the cause of no small commotion among the 
little assembly, and for a moment he feared that a repetition of the 
afternoon’s performance awaited him. However, his forebodings 
were soon set at rest. Mademoiselle Delaforet rose with a pleasant 
smile, and after a few well-chosen words, to welcome the cousin of 
her charming Miss Danvers, and of introduction to her sisters, in- 
vited him to a seat at her side. 

While the old lady was conversing about Psyche’s manifold per- 
fections, and the irreparable loss her departure was to them all, 
Vere’s eyes w'ere magnetized by a lovely apparition, seated alone at 
a small side - table, apparently engrossed in her book. Although 
placed at a distance from the lamp, which threw her into a half 


22 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


shadow, Yere had no difficulty in recognizing in the graceful form 
and pose of the girl before him Psyche’s bosom friend and former 
companion, Carmen Mendes. 

Once or twice she looked up from her book and flashed a glance 
across at him; but this he judged rather from the movement of her 
head than' from any actual perception of her features. While he 
was wishing earnestly that he could obtain a nearer view of what 
his artist’s eye told him must be a face of surpassing loveliness, if it 
at all corresponded with the suggestions thrown out by the soft, 
shadowy outlines, Mademoiselle Delaforet suddenly remarked, 
“ Apropos, Monsieur Danvers, I promised your cousin to present 
you to her dear friend, who is still with us — Mademoiselle Mendes.” 
Then raising her voice," Carmen, my dear child, come hither a little 
moment.” 

A sudden start, followed by a petulant shrug of the shoulders, 
was the only reply vouchsafed to this appeal. 

‘‘Poor child, she is in one of her humors,” murmured Made- 
moiselle Delaforet, rising and crossing over to her. 

Yere, as an amused spectator, could hear the gentle remonstrance: 
"Carmen! Why didst thou not come? I wished to present thee 
to the cousin and friend of thy friend.” 

To which the recalcitrant beauty replied, in the tones of a spoiled 
child, " If he wants to make my acquaintance, let him come to me. 
I will not disturb myself for any man!” 

* ’ Petite farceuse ! Art thou not of an age to abandon such child- 
ish ways? What will the gentleman think of thee?” 

"Let him think what he likes. I refuse to be made a show of 
before all these people.” And Yere could hear her little foot tap- 
ping wrathfully on the polished floor. 

"By Jove, what a temper!” he mentally ejaculated. " ‘ La belle 
sauvage ’ was not such a misnomer after all.” 

Presently, after some more whispered entreaties on the part of 
Mademoiselle Mathilde, which evidently met with a more and more 
emphatic refusal from Carmen, the old lady returned to Yere, rais- 
ing her eyes and hands to Heaven in mute protest. 

"Mon Dieu, monsieur — Mademoiselle Mendes is in one of her 
haughty moods; she considers herself insulted because you were not 
presented to her at first, and declines to leave her seat to make your 
acquaintance. The best thing we can do is to leave her alone till 
she regains her senses.” 

"lam sorry, madame, if I have offended the young lady,” began 
Yere, who, although not at all a courreur des dames, felt somewhat 
piqued at this extraordinary behavior on the part of a girl in whom 
he was prepared to interest himself for Psyche’s sake. 

" On the contrary, it is I who should apologize; but I hope mon- 
sieur will not think that most of our pupils give themselves such 
airs. Poor Carmen is an orphan and a foreigner, so we may make 
excuses for her.” 

The tender pity expressed alike by the words and in the face of 
the kind old lady, who seemed not to notice the snub she had re- 


IBP LOVE BE LOVE. 


23 


ceived from her pupil and dependent, but rather to grieve for the % 
girl’s own sake, touched Yere to the quick, and completely blotted 
out his own growing resentment. ‘ ‘ If Mademoiselle Carmen will 
not come to us, will you kindly take me to her and make my pres- 
entation in due form?” he asked. 

The old lady smiled assent, and, leaning on Yere’s arm, again 
crossed the room. 

Carmen had flung herself into a large velvet-covered chair, and 
with averted head, and eyes fixed on her book, reclined in a posture 
which, for all its grace and affected indifference, had in it something 
stubborn and defiant. 

As they approached, Yere could see that the long silken eyelashes 
which drooped on to her cheek were quivering with suppressed ex- 
citement, while her lovely bosom rose and fell rapidly under the 
thin black dress, the sombre hues of which were relieved by a few 
bows of amber-colored satin. 

We have said that Yere Danvers was no lady’s man. His ac- 
quaintance with the opposite sex was almost confined to the mem- 
bers of his own family and the fair Miss Moggs. Social intercourse 
at Danverfield was necessarily restricted, owing to the squire’s au- 
tocratic and essentially selfish temperament ; and in London, where 
he was totally unknown outside the circle of his student friends, he 
had had no opportunities for mixing in society and for cultivating 
that susceptibility to female charms which, as the French say of the 
appetite, “ Vient en mangeant.” Then, too, although naturally of a 
romantic disposition, and gifted with a warm and affectionate nat- 
ure, the circumstances under which he had marked out a career for 
himself had raised the art, for whose sake he had sacrificed so much, 
to a position which would admit of no rival. 

Hitherto his cousin Psyche had been his beau ideal of what a girl 
should be. But pretty though she undoubtedly was, what he most 
admired in her were the so-called masculine virtues— her steadfast- 
ness, her courage, and her outspoken truthfulness; and the strong 
affection in which he held her partook more of the nature of a 
brother’s love than that of a man for a woman. 

To Yere, then— unsophisticated to an extent almost equalling that 
of Galatea when she asked, “ What is a man?” — a wild, wayward, 
passionate, yet supremely lovely daughter of Eve, like Carmen, 
whose beauty roused all the artistic enthusiasm within him, was at 
once a mystery and a revelation. 

As he stood in front of her chair, patiently waiting for the glance 
of recognition which she mutinously withheld, her classically shaped 
head and features appeared to him in profile. The chiaro-oscuro in 
which she rested lent the charm of softened outline to a form which 
would well have borne the most searching light. 

For the third time Mademoiselle Delaforet was saying, “My dear 
Mademoiselle Mendes, Monsieur Danvers requests the honor of being 
presented to you;” and Yere, twice prepared to make his lowest 
bow and to say something polite, began to grow impatient under this 
display of studied impertinence or childish bad temper. 


24 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


An involuntary sarcastic smile of amusement rose to his lips, and 
he was about to offer to reconduct the old lady to her chair, when, 
suddenly, Carmen turned round and faced him with a glance full of 
fury. 

“ Why do you laugh at me?” she cried. “ Are these the manners 
of an English gentleman?” 

Vere was as much perturbed by the marvellous beauty of her flash- 
ing eyes as by the suddenness and vehemence of the attack, but he 
was not going to allow himself to be disconcerted by an angry school- 
girl. 

“Well, really, mademoiselle, I beg your pardon, but I was just 
about asking Mademoiselle Delaforet if yours are the manners of a 
Spanish lady — to turn your back on a gentleman who is being pre- 
sented to you.” 

“Bravo, monsieur! Well said,” ejaculated Mademoiselle Dela- 
foret. 

The girl looked him full in the face, as though striving to take his 
measure. Then, in an injured tone, 

“You know you didn’t want to make my acquaintance at all. 
You were forced to. You came because Mademoiselle Matliilde 
asked you.” 

“ Nothing of the sort. Monsieur Danvers begged me to introduce 
him,” cried Mademoiselle Delaforet; and adding, half aloud, “Ah, 
well, now that the storm is past, I can leave you two to yourselves,”, 
the good lady moved over to her old crony, Madame Bouchard, 
with whom she was soon enjoying the luxury of a quiet gossip. 

“ Is that true what she said?” asked Carmen, incredulously, after 
a long pause, during which Yere continued to smile down at her as 
' though she were some novel and inexplicable mechanical toy. “ Tell 
me; no prevarication.” 

“ Yes,” he replied, laconically. 

“ Will you swear?” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ There! I knew it wasn’t true. Go away. I won’t speak to you ;” 
and she once more turned her back on him. 

Thoroughly entertained, Yere laughed softly to himself, and stood 
his ground. 

“They say that France is the home of the drama,” he mused; 
“but I should not have thought it possible that in one day a comedy 
and a melodrama could have been constructed out of such feeble 
materials, and that 1 should have been assigned a leading part in 
each.” 

Although her face was buried in the cushions, Carmen was ap- 
parently quite conscious of his continued presence. 

“ Why don’t you go? How dare you stand there laughing at me?” 
she cried, wrathfully, her head still averted. 

“You must forgive me, but you are so droll— irresistibly comic;” 
and again he laughed with intense enjoyment. Never in his life 
had he seen a grown person act the part of a child to such perfection. 
He could not be angry with her, still less respectful, any more than 


IF LOVE BE LOVE, 


25 


if she had been a pretty nursery rebel of three or four years old, and 
he an aged relative. 

Again she turned on him like a wild-cat, about to spring. 

“I hate you — I should like to kill you! Now , will you leave me 
in peace?” 

“Halloo! working up for a tragedy,” thought Yere. Then, per- 
ceiving that this was no simulated passion, and though she spoke 
softly to avoid arousing attention the girl was in terrible earnest, he 
bowed politely and quitted her side, more puzzled than ever. 


CHAPTER Y. 

“ To listen is to yield ; no word came back, 

But a bright glance and deeper blush told much.” 

W. A. Gibbs. 

That night Yere’s dreams were of a peculiarly vivid and melo- 
dramatic character, and through them all Carmen — alternately in the 
angelic and demoniac form — figured predominant. 

Once he dreamed that he had been elected Maire of Boisy-la-Reine, 
and Monsieur Bouchard, robed in purple and gold, and bearinga crown 
and sceptre, was conducting him to a gorgeous throne in the Church 
of St. Gudule. Thousands of people weje assembled to greet him, 
and the air was filled with their acclamations, “Yive Milor Dan- 
vers! Vive le Maire de Boisy-la-Reine!” Madame Bouchard, clad 
in tights like a ballet-dancer, was posturing in front of the organ, 
which Mademoiselle Delaforet was playing with a handle. Sud- 
denly the figure in the altar-piece, representing the Virgin, assumed 
the form of Carmen Mendes. Her eyes shot fire, her voice sounded 
like a trumpet. All the spectators fell groaning on their knees, 
devoutly crossing themselves. “ I hate you — I should like to kill 
you!” she screamed, and, seizing the main pillars of the church, 
pulled the whole edifice about their ears with a terrific crash ! 

******* 

Yere awoke, palpitating and breathless, to discover the gar^n, 
who had entered the room with his hot water, sprawling over a chair 
which, finding neither key nor bolt, he had placed overnight in front 
of the door by way of precaution. 

A swim in the river and a good walk in the forest before break- 
fast completely dispelled his fantastic dreamings, but none the less, 
Carmen occupied no small share in his thoughts during the greater 
part of the day. 

His bewildered wonderment that his cousin Psyche, whom he re- 
garded as being gifted with a more than usual amount of common- 
sense, should have chosen this ill-mannered spitfire for her bosom 
friend, was only surpassed by the reflection that Mademoiselle Dela- 
foret, who was under no obligation to keep the penniless girl an 


26 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


hour in her house, yet, in spite of disobedience and rebuffs, treated 
her with the utmost kindness and consideration. 

“I suppose there’s something in her that’s lovable and charming 
beyond her mere beauty; because, though I can understand some 
men being befooled by that sort of thing, her own sex wouldn’t be. 
Anyhow, if she has other graces, she hasn’t troubled to display them 
to me.” 

Thus Vere reasoned, and then dismissed the subject, deeming it of 
but small importance compared with the great object of his visit to 
Boisy-la-Reine— the execution of a number of sketches in the neigh- 
boring forest, which were to form the nucleus of a series of paint- 
ings of woodland scenery on which he hoped to found a reputation. 

Although he had been invited by Mademoiselle Delaforet to re- 
peat his visit any Sunday evening when he was so disposed, Vere 
allowed several weeks to elapse before he again directed his steps to 
the Pension ; and this not so much that he did not care to renew the 
acquaintance of the kind ladies as that he w r as withheld by a feeling 
compounded of pride and bashfulness from seeming to appear an 
intruder, or too anxious to avail himself of their proffered hospitali- 
ty. Then, too, he found plenty of occupation in daily excursions 
into the forest, and in taking rough sketches and notes of pictur- 
esque spots ' which he purposed revisiting later on, when his pro- 
gramme of work should have assumed a more definite shape. 

How r ever, a letter from Psyche containing several messages and 
commissions for Mademoiselle Delaforet and Carmen Mendes neces- 
sitated a personal interview, and accordingly, nothing loath, he pre- 
sented himself again at the school. 

As he entered the hall, his ear was struck by the tones of a rich, 
full, contralto voice, rendering with exquisite taste and pathos one of 
Schubert’s beautiful songs. Although no professed musician him- 
self, Vere knew enough of the divine art to judge that the singer 
possessed powers of no mean order both of voice and feeling. Touch- 
ing the maid on the arm to prevent her from disturbing the music 
by opening the door, he remained in the anteroom an entranced lis- 
tener, w T hile the singer intonated the second couplet : 

“Adieu! tu vas m’ ’attendre 
Bientot je dois partir; 

Mon cceur fiddle et tendre, 

Te garde un souvenir. 

Adieu, jusqu’a l’aurore, 

Du jour en qui j’ai foi ; 

Du jour, qui doit encore, 

Me r^unir a toi.” 

As the last notes died away the servant threw open the door, and 
Vere caught a glimpse of Carmen standing by the piano with a soft- 
ened, yearning expression on her lovely face, as though her thoughts 
were iar away with some fondly cherished memory. He asked him- 
self, were these eyes, moist with emotion and bright with the re- 
flection of a loving soul within, the same fiery orbs that had darted 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


27 


looks of hate and anger on him, a stranger innocent of offence, but 
three weeks ago? Was it possible that the passionate, unreasonable 
child could have been thus suddenly metamorphosed into a tender, 
sentient woman ? 

Mute with astonishment, he stood in the doorway, forgetful of his 
errand— of his hostess, indeed— until Mademoiselle Delaforet, attrib- 
uting his strange behavior to bashfulness, advanced towards him 
with out-stretched hand and bade him kindly welcome. 

This recalled Yere to his senses, and having cordially returned the 
old lady’s greetings, he proceeded to make his bow to Mademoiselle 
Hortense and the rest of the company. 

Turning to address the youngest Mademoiselle Delaforet, who was 
still seated at the piano, he found himself face to face with Carmen. 
Doubtful of the reception that might await him, he saluted her dis- 
tantly, intently watching her the while. A deep crimson flush suf- 
fused the girl’s neck and face, and her eyelids quivered and drooped 
beneath his glance as she responded with a low courtesy. 

Feeling emboldened by this absence of hostile demonstration, he 
ventured to address a remark on the song she had just been singing, 
and to compliment her on her rendering of it. 

“ Ah, monsieur— then Schubert is a favorite of yours? I am so 
glad, because my dearest Psyche — Miss Danvers and I, both adore 
him.” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle, in my humble opinion his melodies are among 
the most touching and tuneful ever written. ” 

“ Carmen, dear, sing us ‘ Ave Maria, ’’’said Mademoiselle Clarisse, 
softly playing the introductory phrase. 

The girl glanced swiftly into Vere’s face as though asking his as- 
sent, and sweetly and quietly, but in tones full of passionate entreaty, 
began that touching invocation to the Virgin. 

Yere stole softly to a chair in a dark corner facing the singer, and 
sat drinking in the lovely harmonies and wondering within himself 
how he could reconcile the Carmen of to-day with the vixen of his 
previous acquaintance. But then, although he had studied seas, skies, 
and forests in their changing moods, he did not think of applying 
his knowledge to that most changeful of Nature’s productions — a 
young girl — or the mystery might have been solved. 

It happened that he was the only outside visitor on this evening, 
so that less formality and rigid decorum prevailed than on the pre- 
vious occasion. After delivering his cousin’s message to Mademoi- 
selle Mathilde, he was able to enter into a friendly tete-d-tete converse 
with Carmen. 

Of course Psyche formed the main staple of their discourse, but, 
although no reference was made by either to their former unpleasant 
rencontre, Carmen allowed the conversation to turn on herself and 
her past life; and while describing the agony of black despair under 
which she at times labored, from the loss of her father and her dear- 
est friend, managed to suggest an apology for her conduct, which 
Vere readily accepted. 

When she was so minded, Carmen could be a very model of sweet- 


28 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


ness and amiability. A child of impulse, subject to sudden and vi- 
olent transitions from sunshine to storm — like the land of her birth — 
this same versatility of disposition lent an additional charm to her 
softer moods. With her, every action, every expression was natu- 
ral and spontaneous, and although, in the abstract, the entire ab- 
sence of self-control was an irremediable blot on her character — re- 
garded in a purely aesthetic light — she was the more perfect for her 
imperfections. 

When they parted that evening, Vere no longer marvelled at the 
interest and affection which this beautiful chameleon inspired in all 
those on whom she deigned to smile. Unknown to himself, the sub- 
tle sorcery of her charms had made its influence felt in his heart; 
and although he pooh-poohed the notion of love, and told himself 
that he would have no other mistress tliau his art, the spell was cast, 
and he was no more able to free himself than Merlin, when the wily 
Vivien wrought the charm — 

“With woven paces and with waving arms, 
***** 

From which was no escape for evermore.” 

For some time after this meeting, Vere, deluding himself with the 
belief that this newly awakened interest was due to a cousinly de- 
sire to carry out Psyche’s behests by befriending her friend, and also, 
perhaps, to an artist’s admiration of the beautiful, continued to pre- 
sent himself at the Pension on Sunday evenings with considerable 
regularity. 

Carmen, who was predisposed to elevate the young artist to a dan- 
gerous pre-eminence in her mind, felt with keen delight the growing 
influence which she exerted over him. 

As with him, so with her — up to now it had been no question of 
love. She knew as little or less of men than he of women, but her 
woman’s heart was craving for some object on which to lavish its 
pent-up affections. And although at the first meeting he did not 
come up to her expectations, nay more, had seemed to her, in her 
over-wrought state, wanting in respect and common courtesy, when 
she came to know him more intimately, to compare him either in 
person or in manner with the few middle-aged citizens of Boisy-la- 
Reine of whom her circle of male acquaintance was composed, she 
felt that here was an object worthy of her adoration, and fell to wor- 
shipping him accordingly. 

Nevertheless she was woman enough, for all her childish impet- 
uosity and openness of character, to conceal from him, and, as she 
thought, from others, this growing affection which was fast becom- 
ing an irresistible passion; and not unfrequently she strove to cloak 
it under an assumption of studied indifference, or even of active dis- 
like. 

Preoccupied with his work, and extremely diffident of his own 
powers of attraction, Vere did not discover this open secret. Made- 
moiselle Delaforet was not so obtuse. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


29 


The good lady, in whom the long duration of the celibate state had 
by no means destroyed that interest in Cupid and his ways inherent 
in her sex, was tenderly attached to Carmen, and feeling how utter- 
ly unsuited she was for the humdrum monotony of a teacher’s life, 
had often cast about for a suitable husband, to whose care she deemed 
the girl’s happiness would be most safely intrusted. But Carmen 
had no dot , and without that no Frenchman dreams of marrying. 

From the moment of Vere’s arrival Mademoiselle Delaforet— who 
understood that Englishmen were more romantic, or, at any rate, less 
exigent on this score — built her hopes on him; and when she found 
he was good-looking, clever, well-born and well-behaved, her kind 
heart went out to him as the destined protector of her orphan charge. 

Many a talk did she and Madame Bouchard hold over the pros- 
pects of the match. 

As to his means they did not trouble their heads. Were not all 
Englishmen more or less millionaires? And though Monsieur Dan- 
vers did paint pictures for sale, many of his rich countrymen fol- 
lowed more extraordinary pursuits for the sake of some caprice or 
fancy, even to the extent of spending their days and their money in 
the hunting of foxes, when a snare or a gun would destroy the ver- 
min without trouble or expense. 

Thus, instead of any obstacles being put in the way, the young 
people were designedly, although secretly, encouraged in their inter- 
course. 

One Machiavelian idea, emanating from the fertile brain of Ma- 
dame Bouchard, was hailed with ecstasy by Mademoiselle Delaforet 
as likely to forward her favorite scheme; and this was that Vere 
should give Carmen lessons in drawing and painting. 

As the winter approached, Vere, finding himself restricted in his 
out- door excursions, and time hanging rather heavily on his hands, 
had asked his hostess whether she thought there would be any prob- 
ability of his getting a few pupils in the town. To which Madame 
Bouchard replied that her influence and recommendation were en- 
tirely at his service, but that she would first consult Mademoiselle 
Delaforet on the subject. 

Just at this time the drawing-master attached to the Pension was 
incapacitated from carrying on his duties by an attack of rheuma- 
tism, so that Mademoiselle Delaforet, who, apart from her own wishes 
on the subject, had a very exalted notion of Vere’s powers, felt no 
scruple in proposing that Vere should temporarily fill his place. 

Although these were not quite the class of students he had wished 
to secure—for there seemed to him at first something derogatory in 
teaching a parcel of school-girls— Vere thanked the old lady kindly 
for her offer, and promised to give his answer in a few days. 

Meanwhile, Mademoiselle Delaforet had artfully mentioned the 
subject to Carmen, and the next time Vere called, the girl expressed 
so much delight at the prospect of having him for a master, that lie 
felt constrained to consent to the arrangement. 

Pleasantly, for the teacher and for one at least of his pupils, sped 
the hours devoted to the lesson. How pleasant they had been, and 


30 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


what a tender feeling the community of interest had fostered in both 
their hearts, perhaps neither fully realized until the spring came, and 
with it an interruption to this delightful arrangement. 

In the first place, Monsieur Duval, the ancient professor, was suf- 
ficiently restored to be able to resume his position; and, secondly, 
Vere had occasion to go to Paris to try and arrange for the exhibition 
or sale of some of his pictures. 

Not being in actual need of the money to which he was entitled 
for the lessons, Vere insisted on dividing it with Monsieur Duval, 
who could ill afford the loss of six months’ earnings; and he, in re- 
turn, furnished the young man with letters of introduction to some 
of his confreres and several art critics in Paris. 

Thus armed, Yere prepared for his departure, but, before starting, 
came to bid adieu to the Demoiselles Delaforet and his late pupils. 

Carmen was terribly depressed that evening, and the soft, sad ex- 
pression in her eyes, when she bade him good-by, went straight to 
his heart, and revealed the secret he had so long ignored. 

Disregardful of the proprieties, she had followed him into the 
anteroom with some last small commission. 

They stood, hand-in-hand, near the door. “ Au revoir, Monsieur 
Danvers; do not remain too long in beautiful Paris, and, above all, 
do not forget us while you are away.” Although she tried to smile, 
there was a tone of subdued melancholy in her voice that moved 
Yere strangely. Almost unconsciously he bent forward, and, gaz- 
ing fondly into her tell-tale eyes, impressed a kiss on her forehead. 
“ Good-by, my darling. It is not for long; not longer than I can 
help, believe me, now that I know what awaits me on my return.” 
Then, fearing to get her into trouble by detaining her longer, he tore 
himself away and sped back to the hotel, full of new and. delicious 
hopes and dreams of future happiness. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ She’s beautiful, and therefore to be woo’d, 

She is a woman, and therefore to be won.” 

Shakespeare. 

Vere started for Paris by an early train on the following morn- 
ing, and throughout the journey his mind was fully occupied in 
taking count of the new aspect of his affairs consequent upon the 
engagement to which he had so unpremeditatedly committed him- 
self. 

That his reflections were entirely pleasant we hardly dare assert. 
Looked at in the cold, matter-of-fact light of day, his action of the 
previous evening seemed, to say the least of it, extremely rash and 
imprudent. 

True, when he recalled Carmen’s rare beauty, her grace, and what 
had appealed more than either to his innate chivalry, her helpless 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


31 


position, his heart told him that to have left unanswered her mute 
and involuntary entreaty for a return of her affection would have 
been cruel and unmanly. And yet, urged Reason, to engage him- 
self to a penniless girl while he was still struggling for a bare ex- 
istence, savored more of romantic Quixotism than of worldly wis- 
dom. 

He appeared to himself alternately the happiest man in the world 
or the most foolish, according as sentiment or reason gained the up- 
per hand in his mind ; but throughout the conflict no thought of 
trying to shuffle out of the engagement dared even to present itself. 
With all his faults and failings, Yere was the soul of honor; and al- 
though the few hurried words wrested from him by the girl’s sudden 
emotion and trouble, under circumstances which would have in- 
flamed a colder and less impressionable imagination than his — words 
to which, indeed, no actual response had been given — might readily 
have been explained away, he regarded himself as irrevocably bound. 

The only debatable points in his mind were, whether he could 
make her happy, and whether she would be content to share a lot 
which, for the present, at any rate, offered small prospects of ease 
and luxury. 

That Carmen loved him deeply and truly he had no doubt. All 
her past words and actions, viewed in the light of this sudden reve- 
lation, pointed to that. And the thought that he, without, so to 
speak, any effort on his own part, and with nothing in particular 
to recommend him, should have gained the affections of so lovely a 
creature, filled him with a strong sense of gratitude not unmixed 
with wonder. 

Whether these sentiments and his unbounded admiration of her 
personal attractions constituted the love which alone justifies a life- 
long union, he scarcely stopped to inquire. He had hitherto given 
so little thought to the subject, had, indeed, so wrapped himself in 
the belief that he was never likely to enter the “ blessed state,” that 
w T hen he suddenly found himself vanquished by the charms against 
which he had thought himself proof, he simply marvelled at his 
former blindness and bowed to the inevitable. 

Arrived in the great city, his preoccupation was forced to give 
place to more present and pressing interests. Nevertheless, the silken 
thread of his first romance clung about him, and he found a secret 
delight in hugging to himself the belief that, though cold indiffer- 
ence and disappointment might await him here, in the little forest 
town not so many leagues away a tender maiden-heart was hoping 
and praying for his success. 

And it seemed, indeed, as though the charm was gifted with a 
peculiar potency. Thanks to the interest of one of the art critics 
to whom Monsieur Duval had recommended him, Yere was able to 
dispose of some of his pictures at prices which far exceeded his 
modest anticipations; and, what was even more encouraging, he re- 
ceived before he left Paris several other commissions on terms which 
made the prospect of matrimony no longer the risky adventure it 
had at first appeared. 


32 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Emboldened by his success, he returned to Boisy-la-Reine filled 
with delightful anticipations of the pleasure of sharing it with Carmen, 
and hearing from her lips the sweet avowal he had read in her eyes. 

Nor was he to be disappointed. His first visit was to the Pension, 
where he solicited and obtained an interview with Mademoiselle De- 
laforet, to whom he frankly communicated his hopes and wishes. 
Knowing, as we do, the kind old lady’s sentiments, it is needless to 
say that she joyfully acceded to his proposed fiangmlles. Neverthe- 
less, she felt bound by her conscience to inform him that, to all in- 
tents and purposes, Carmen was an orphan, and without a sou of 
her own in the world — a fact of which he was already aware. 

“ Of course,” she said, in conclusion, “we shall supply her trous- 
seau, and see that everything is done en regie, for I love the dear 
child as though she were my own. You will believe me, Monsieur 
Danvers, wTien I assure you that, did I not think it was for her hap- 
piness, I would never part with her.” 

“ I am sure of that,” replied Vere, simply. “ Your generous con- 
duct hitherto has amply proved it; and I, for my part, will do my 
utmost to make her never regret leaving such kind friends.” 

“ There is only one thing more. I suppose, as a matter of form, 
1 must acquaint Monsieur Mendes’s former solicitors of her proposed 
change of state. I know they believe him to be dead, although, as 
far as I am aware, no certain proofs exist.” 

“ As you like, ch&re mademoiselle; only you will not ask me to 
wait their reply before seeing Carmen?” pleaded Yere. 

Mademoiselle Delaforet hesitated, and then replied, “I see no 
reason why you should wait. As I said, it is simply a matter of 
form; they have no power either oneway or the other.” Then 
adding, ‘ ‘ Excuse me one moment, I will send the dear child to you,” 
she quietly left the room. 

Yere remained gazing dreamity out of the window until a slight 
movement at the door caused him to turn round— and Carmen was 
before him. 

There was a bright, happy look in the girl’s eyes, which flattered 
him more than the most consummate assumption of coyness or in- 
nocence could have done, since it proved her faith in him. 

“Iam so pleased you are come back,” she said, advancing with 
out-stretched hands. 

‘ ‘ Carmen, dearest, is it true?” and the young man clasped both the 
little hands in his. 

“Do you doubt it? I have thought of nothing but of you since 
you left.” And her eyes sought his without shyness, but without 
boldness. 

“Then you do love me?” asked Yere, drawing her to him. 

Her head drooped on his shoulder, and she nestled close up to him 
like a lost child who has found its protector. 

“I have always loved you — even before I knew you—” 

Mere words were powerless to express the young man’s feelings; 
but the passionate kiss he pressed upon her lips sufficed for a reply 
—or her face belied her thoughts. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


33 


Just then Mademoiselle Delaforet, who thought the young people 
had been long enough alone, entered the room, after considerately 
fumbling with the handle. “ After all,” she argued, smiling to her 
self, “ because I have not enjoyed the sweets of love, that is no rea- 
son why I should grudge these poor children their little hour of 
bliss.” And although she did break in upon them and interrupt 
their raptures, it was only from a sense of duty, and to offer her 
warmest congratulations and good wishes. 

People say, “Sour as an old maid!” but they forget how many 
are sweet and unselfish and devoted, like dear old Mademoiselle De- 
laforet: or how many women who have exchanged the marriage 
vow sometimes fail in all these virtues. 

We do not propose to dwell in detail on the happy summer months 
of the young couple’s engagement, because either our readers have 
gone through a similar experience, and need no telling, or else they 
have not, and the description might fall flat. After all, courtship is 
essentially a duet for private performance only, and, like amateur 
theatricals, yields more gratification to the performers than to the 
audience, however well disposed. 

Suffice it to say, then, that the short and rare interviews, entre 
quntre yeux , which the rigid etiquette of our neighbors allows to 
affianced lovers, were occupied, more or less, in the regulation man- 
ner, and appeared, perhaps, all the sweeter for their rarity. 

There were no impediments to their speedy union, and Vere, 
feeling that this state of feverish excitemeut was detrimental to his 
work, persuaded Carmen to fix a day early in August for the nuptial 
ceremony. Before doing so, however, he wrote to inform his moth- 
er of his intention, and to ask her blessing on his union, leaving her 
to communicate the intelligence to his father or not, at her discre- 
tion. 

As a matter of course. Psyche was aware of the impending event, 
for she had been the first to receive, through Carmen, the news of 
their engagement, and Yere still regaided her as his natural confi- 
dante and stanchest friend. 

Of Psyche’s personal feelings on the subject we shall treat later 
on ; but, "putting these aside, as the girl did herself when the interests 
of those she loved were concerned, we may mention that she was by 
no means so assured of the future happiness in store for the affi- 
anced pair as they themselves seemed to be. And this, having 
known Vere from her earliest childhood, and reading his character 
like an open book, she judged mainly from the tone of his letters. 

True, he expressed himself proud beyond measure of the lovely 
girl who had consented to be his wife. Nor did he fail to paint in 
glowing colors the rapture and comfort of having a home of his own, 
and a sympathetic companion always at his side to inspire his brush 
and lighten the load of loneliness which so often had weighed him 
down in his former solitary existence. But of love for her, for her 
own sake— of that irresistible, unalterable devotion which merges 
itself in the object of its adoration and loves because it cannot help 
loving; in few words, of a love such as a man like Yere should feel 

3 


34 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


towards his wife, he gave no sign. And Psyche, noting this, and 
having had experience of Carmen’s capricious yet exacting affection, 
was fearful lest, like the seed that fell on stony ground, their hap- 
piness might wither because it had no root. 

Had her feelings towards her cousin been other than they were, 
she might have ventured to utter a word of caution. But modesty, 
the dread of appearing meddlesome and impertinent, and, above all, 
distrust-of her own perspicacity, restrained her. And so, although 
with an aching heart, she contented herself with sending her warm- 
est felicitations, accompanied by a handsome present. 

At last the long-looked-for day arrived. Boisy-la-Reine was en 
fete, for the Demoiselles Delaforet had determined to do everything 
in their power to make the wedding of their lovely pi'otegee a suc- 
cess, and their efforts were warmly seconded by Madame Bouchard. 
Notwithstanding Yere’s protestations, a measure of civic state at- 
tended the signing of the contrat de manage at the Mairie, while the 
religious ceremony in the ancient church of St. CKidule was likewise 
celebrated with unusual pomp. 

After the dejeuner , the bridal pair took their departure for Paris, 
where they were to pass the lime de mid; and this brings us to the 
point at which our story opened. 


CHAPTER VII. 

“ Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover, 

Fades in his eye, and pales upon the sense.” — Addison. 

The reasons which induced Vere to spend his honey-moon in Paris 
were manifold. In the first place, it was Carmen’s predilection, for 
she had lived long enough in France to become imbued with that 
magnetic attraction which the glittering city exercises over all pro- 
vincials, and regarded the prospects of a fortnight’s gayety and 
amusement, after her four or five years of scholastic routine in 
Boisy-la-Reine, with unbounded delight. Then, too, for his part, 
Yere shared the Englishman’s dislike to be pointed out and smiled 
at as a nouveau-marie — a distinction of which our neighbors, on the 
contrary, are generally proud— and he considered that they would 
be more likely to pass unremarked in Paris than in any of the wa- 
tering-places or other fashionable resorts. Besides, he had a practi- 
cal object in view in visiting the metropolis, which was to wait upon 
his patrons in the hope of further commissions. 

For all his romantic turn of mind, there was a considerable amount 
of common-sense in Vere’s composition, and he felt that he must not 
allow the blissful ecstasies of his novel state to blind him to the fact 
that he had now two mouths to feed instead of one. 

Therefore, although Paris in August is no longer Paris to the true 
Parisian, it still offered sufficient attractions to the bridal pair. It 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


35 


was a treat to witness the childlike delight which Carmen found in 
gluing her little nose against the windows of the seductive shops in 
the Palais Royal or the Rue de Rivoli, and her unrestrained admi- 
ration of the various entertainments to which her devoted husband 
conducted her; while a drive in the Bois, followed by a little repast 
at Ledoyen’s, realized her most exalted notions of earthly bliss. 

Only a few small clouds appeared to dim the sunshine of their 
trip, and to these Vere resolutely shut his eyes, trusting to time and 
the influence of the love Carmen bore him to eradicate the defects 
in her character which gave rise to them. But although-he consid- 
erately forbore to introduce lessons of economy into their short holi- 
day of pleasure, he noted with some dismay that Carmen appeared 
to have not the slightest idea of the value of money, or else to be 
under an erroneous impression as to the elasticity of their income. 

It grated against his feelings to have to say a decided “ no ” to her 
requests for leave to purchase the multitudinous dresses, jewels, or 
knick-knacks which took her fancy; and to avoid the sight of her 
face of childish disappointment, in which surprise, anger, and grief 
were alternately depicted like dissolving views, he often sanctioned 
an expenditure which he knew w T as neither necessary nor prudent. 

Another source of anxiety was the undisguised admiration which 
her beauty called forth whenever she appeared in public, and the 
evident delight her triumphs afforded to her. 

Autre pays — autres mceurs ; and Vere, who shared our insular pre- 
judices against audible personal remarks and bare faced scrutiny, 
however flattering (exception being made apparently in the case of 
Royalty), could hardly repress his feelings of annoyance and dis- 
gust at the behavior of our more volatile neighbors under the influ- 
ence of his wife’s attractions. When the young couple drove in the 
Bois, their fiacre was the cynosure of all eyes, and the identity of the 
beautiful stranger the evident topic of the assembled loungers. Even 
the demi-mondaines could not repress a curiosity, not entirely devoid 
of anxiety, at the apparition of this new and startling constellation. 
At the theatre their baignoir was almost as much the focus of the 
opera-glasses as the stage kself, and nothing but Yere’s muscular and 
determined appearance prevented enterprising gallants from essay- 
ing to make the closer acquaintance of the belle inconnue . 

They occupied a modest apartment in a small hotel ineuble , in the 
Quartier St. Honore, where Vere had stayed on a previous visit, and 
to this, by some means, they had evidently been traced by one of the 
more ardent philanderers. On one occasion, when Yere returned 
after a morning’s absence on business, he discovered Carmen in de- 
lighted contemplation of a magnificent bouquet. “Oh, Vere, just 
look at this! Isn’t it beautiful— isn’t it charming! Who could have 
sent it?” she cried, as he entered the room. 

“ Can’t you guess?” he asked, forcing a smile, as the determina- 
tion flashed through his mind to avoid destroying her childlike in- 
nocence by enlightening her on the world’s wicked ways. 

“ How should I? The concierge brought it in, saying' it was left 
for me by a gentleman. Who can it be? I am dying to know.” 


36 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Silly child! Who should it be but your loving husband? Who 
else do you suppose would squander his substance on a staid and 
sober matron of ten days’ standing?” 

“I don’t believe you; and shall I tell you why? The concierge 
said a strange gentleman drove up in his carriage with a coronet on 
the panels— just think of that!— and after inquiring if madame, the 
beautiful wife of the English gentleman, was within, sent me the 
flowers with his respectful homage. Now, monsieur, what do you 
say to that?” 

Vere had a hard struggle to keep down his rising wrath at this 
act of impertinence, but he succeeded, and again forcing his unwill- 
ing tongue to deviate from strict veracity, replied, jokingly, 

“ You little Coquette! It gives you more pleasure to think a pres- 
ent is from a stranger than from me. Fie upon you!” 

“ Not so, but you are so prudent I am sure you would never waste 
so much on a bouquet. Why, only yesterday you refused me a bon- 
net which did not cost half the money.” 

“ Because you have plenty of bonnets already to last for a year 
and more. But if you must know, petite curieuse, I expect the gift is 
from one of my art patrons. M. de Belleville knows I am in Paris, 
and no longer a happy bachelor. It is very kind of him. I must 
call and thank him — ” 

“Take me with you, do, Vere. I should like to know some nice 
men — I know so few — except you.” 

“Well, well, we will see,” he replied, with a shade of impatience. 

‘ ‘ Give me the flowers ; you will squeeze them all to pieces. I will 
ask the concierge for a vase to put them in.” 

Carmen yielded up her prize with a little air of sulkiness, not lik- 
ing the peremptory tone in which he had for the first time addressed 
her, and when he had left the room, flung herself into a chair, feel- 
ing ill-used and out of temper. 

Meanwhile Vere, on his way down to the concierge, discovered 
concealed among the folds of paper which encircled the bouquet a 
card bearing the inscription, 

“ Le Baron Arthur de Beaulieu, 

‘ ‘ Avenue de V Imperatrice, 

‘ ‘ Champs Ely sees. ” 

And on the reverse side, 

“ Presente ses hommages respectueux, et esp&re bientot se permet- 
tre de les offrir en propre personne.” 

‘ ‘ Confounded puppy ! He’d better try it on, that’s all !” exclaimed 
Vere wrathfully, more than half inclined to drive off to the Avenue 
de llmperatrice, and fling the offending flowers into the baron’s 
face. However, when he learned from the concierge that his would- 
be rival was only a beardless boy, he contented himself with enclos- 
ing a couple of napoleons in a note, worded as follows Mr. Vere 
Danvers thinks M. de Beaulieu must have made some mistake in the 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


37 


address of his floral offerings, and as the bouquet is somewhat dam- 
aged, he returns its value, with the request that M. de Beaulieu will 
be more circumspect in future.” 

The despatch of this missive caused a speedy subsidence of Vere’s 
wrath, and he returned to Carmen, comforting himself with the re- 
flection that in a few days they would be safely installed at Boisy- 
la-Reine, well out of reach of similar annoyances. 

A few caressing words, and the offer to escort her on a visit to 
her beloved shops, soon restored Carmen’s equanimity, and although 
the bouquet graced their table during the remainder of their stay in 
Paris, neither adverted to its mysterious advent — Vere because he 
thought it wiser to let sleeping dogs lie, and Carmen because her 
little head was full of her approaching return to the home of her 
girlhood in the guise of a dignified matron. 

Yere was much entertained by the intense importance with which 
his bride invested their approaching entry into Boisy-la-Reine so- 
ciety, and by the earnestness with which she solicited his advice in 
matters appertaining to her choice of costume for the occasion. Al- 
though habitually he took little notice of feminine attire, and con- 
sidered that she was best dressed whose habiliments excited the least 
remark, Yere bent himself to his wife’s humor. He made her ap- 
pear before him in all her new costumes, declaring, as a final judg- 
ment, that she looked so nice in all or any that he really could not 
form an opinion as to which suited her best. 

This was the sort of flattery that Carmen loved, and she rewarded 
him witli a thousand caresses and tender protestations of affection. 
And Yere feeling his happiness secure, the little flaws in her charac- 
ter, which had made themselves apparent during their short conjugal 
life, faded into insignificance. 

“ She is a dear, impulsive, warm-hearted girl, too young as yet to 
understand fully the responsibilities of married life. But she’ll grow 
into them, and meanwhile I must act father, mother, and husband in 
one, and try to remember the sort of treatment that children require. 
Even if she has the faults of childhood, she possesses all its graces 
and virtues, and, above all, its freshness and enthusiasm.” Thus he 
reasoned within himself, and in these words he concluded a long 
letter to Psyche, dated from Paris the day before their departure. 
This was in reply to one from his cousin announcing the receipt of 
an unlooked-for invitation to Danverfield, which, as her mother was 
restored to health, she had been able to accept, and from which she 
hoped good results might ensue. 

At the suggestion of Madame Bouchard — who, to her extended 
personal knowledge of her native town, added a fund of local in- 
formation which qualified her for a walking registry — Vere had 
rented a small chalet, situated on the estate of M. de Malsherbes, a 
few kilometres out of Boisy-la-Reine. This chalet, which was little 
more than a cottage, consisting of five or six small rooms, stood on 
a wooded slope at a considerable height above the river. The front 
windows commanded an extensive view of gleaming water and gen- 
tly undulating hills. At the back and on either side the tall dark 


a 

o 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


firs and pines closed round the little clearing on which the cMlet 
stood, isolated from the world and the “ busy haunts of men.” 

A very Paradise for an artist, it had seemed to Vere, when he had 
first driven over with Madame Bouchard to call on M. de Malsherbes 
and to obtain permission to see over the little property. 

The vicomte, whose income by no means corresponded with his 
rank, was overjoyed at the prospect of obtaining a tenant for his 
unoccupied cottage, and expressed his willingness to treat with Vere 
on very reasonable terms. Accordingly, Vere had persuaded Made- 
moiselle Mathilde and Carmen to accompany him on a second visit 
of inspection shortly before the wedding; and, as his future bride 
seemed equally delighted with the place, he had taken it furnished 
for six months, having the option of renewing the tenancy at the 
termination of that period. 

Beaurivage — by which appellation the chalet was, known — had 
been erected many years before, when the family fortunes were in a 
more flourishing condition, by one of M. de Malsherbes’s ancestors, 
as a sort of dower house, or private residence, for superannuated 
female relations. Consequently, although the rooms were small, 
the style and antiquity of the decorations and furniture elevated it 
above the mushroom bourgeois villas with which Boisy- la-Reine 
abounded. The black oak panelling and carved ceilings of the salle- 
a-manger, and the faded tapestry and gilded chairs of the salon, lent 
an air of distinction to the tiny apartments, still further enhanced 
by the profusion of coronets carved on the high-backed chairs or 
embroidered on the well-worn silken cushions. 

At a distance of only a few hundred yards, although completely 
hidden from view by the intervening trees, stood the Chateau de 
Malsherbes, a long white structure surmounted by a lofty, peaked, 
and gabled roof. The main building was shaped like half an octa- 
gon, and flanked by two square towers, over each of which the fam- 
ily emblem— a griffin rampant— was proudly displayed on an enor- 
mous zinc weathercock. 

A small chapel and a number of out-buildings helped to swell the 
mass, and, viewed from afar, the residence of the Vicomte de Mal- 
sherbes presented a decidedly imposing appearance. 

A nearer inspection, however, dispelled all grandiose notions. 

Three-fourths of the rooms were shut up and unused, and not- 
withstanding its charming situation and surroundings, and the 
many interesting relics of decayed grandeur in which the chateau 
abounded, Vere felt that he would not have exchanged the little un- 
pretending chalet, with its capabilities of comfort and homeliness, 
for its more important neighbor, even if he could have occupied it 
on the same terms. 

Anxious to obtain the first view of the returning bride and bride- 
groom, in whom they felt a sort of proprietary interest, Mademoi- 
selle Delaforet and Madame Bouchard met them at the station in one 
of Monsieur Bouchard’s carriages, and they all four drove in state 
through the suburb which lay on that side of the river, and up the 
sandy winding road leading to Beaurivage. Although the chalet 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


39 


stood within the park boundaries, it could be approached by a small 
forest track, which opened into the high-road half a mile beyond 
the grand entrance to the chateau. As the carriage was passing the 
great iron gates, M. de Malsherbes suddenly appeared, hat in hand, 
and offered his felicitations, expressing at the same time a hope that 
their new residence would be to their satisfaction, and that he might 
be allowed to pay them a visit in the course of a few days, in order 
to assure himself that all was as it should be. Naturally, Yere re- 
plied that they should be delighted to see him ; and after the ex- 
change of a few more complimentary phrases the carriage drove on. 

Having seen the young people safely installed at the chalet, the 
ladies considerately took their departure and left them to settle 
down in their new home. 

Carmen was charmed beyond measure with the place and every- 
thing belonging to it, fluttering about from room to room with the 
delighted eagerness of a child examining a box of new toys. It w r as 
continuously “Oh, Yere! have you seen this lovely clock?” or 
“ Come quickly, Yere, I want to show’ you the sweetest little cabi- 
net,” and so on, until he laughingly declared that she w T ould leave 
herself nothing for future amusement, and forced her to abandon 
her quest, and accompany him on a stroll in the cool, inviting for- 
est, from which they w T ere only separated by the park palings. 

“What a blessed relief after the heat and noise and smells of 
Paris!” exclaimed Yere, sniffing delightedly the pleasant odor emit- 
ted by the pine-trees, and gazing entranced at the glorious sunset 
effects just visible through the tops of the trees. 

“Yes, it is nice,” chimed in Carmen, but less enthusiastically. 
She was thinking regretfully that her charming costume of gns de 
perles was wasted on the desert air. 

“ Compare this velvety moss with the burning asphalt, these love- 
ly rides striped in gold and shadow with the noisy, dusty streets, 
and tell me honestly if country is not preferable to town?” 

“ Well, yes, perhaps, for some things. But then, Vere, there are 
no shops.” 

“ No shops! You little Philistine, to dare to think of man’s trump- 
ery gauds when Nature’s whole stock-in-trade of romantic charms 
and beauty is spread out before you. Surely my Carmen has a soul 
above shops.” 

‘ ‘ It’s all very well for you, being an artist, to rave about Nature 
and scenery; but if you want my honest opinion, I prefer the life 
and gayety of Paris to the gloomy solitude of the forest — beautiful 
as it is,” replied Carmen, more than half inclined to be vexed at his 
banter. 

“ Well, dearest, we won’t quarrel over our little differences of 
taste,” said Yere, good-humoredly; “ but since we cannot afford to 
live in a great city, and the forest has to be our home, I hope you 
will learn to love it, or, at any rate, to be happy in it, till I have 
made a fortune, and can provide you with another residence more 
to vour taste.” 

Instantly Carmen relented, and, in a fit of penitent affection, Hung 


40 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


her arms round Vere’s neck, exclaiming, “ So that my husband loves 
me, I shall be happy anywhere. You do love me, Yere, don’t you, 
for all my naughty, silly ways?” 

“ Of course I do, child,” he replied, gently disengaging her arms. 
At no time partial to heroics, he did not like to appear to encourage 
his wife’s tendency to enact emotional scenes about mere trifles. 
Then, to change the conversation, he added, “It is almost time to 
turn back. Much as I like the forest, I don’t want to have the din- 
ner spoiled.” 

Carmen flashed a look up at him from her large dark ej'es, in 
which, had he seen it, he might have read the grief and surprise of 
a child whose advances are overlooked and rejected. But she only 
said, shortly, “I am ready, let us return,” and led the way back 
through the darkening trees. 

The influence of her passion for Yere was still strong upon her. 
Perhaps, too, the strangeness of her new state helped to repress the 
rebellious feelings which were surging in her breast, and prevented 
her from giving them vent as she would formerly have done in an 
outburst of passion. Nevertheless, she felt hurt and outraged at 
what she considered his cold, careless treatment ; and although by 
the time she reached the chalet the storm had spent itself, the seeds 
of a suspicion had been sown that his love for her was not so all- 
absorbing as hers for him — seeds which were destined to take root 
and bring forth jealousy and all its attendant miseries. 

Meanwhile Yere, unconscious of his offence, loitered slowly be- 
hind her, stopping to enjoy the lovely peeps to be caught, through 
the narrow archways of verdure, of the river, flashing like a stream 
of molten gold in the rays of the setting sun. When at last he en- 
tered he found that Carmen had nearly completed her toilet. Re- 
marking an appearance of recent tears in her eyes, his conscience 
smote him, and he hastened to inquire the cause. “ Was it because 
he left her to walk home alone?” he inquired, tenderly, willing to 
make atonement for his apparent neglect. But Carmen only avert- 
ed her head, muttering as she passed out that “ It was nothing — only 
a slight headache and fit of depression.” Anxious to avoid making 
an unnecessary fuss about what he concluded was, after all, some 
girlish whim, he accepted her explanation, and hastened to join her 
at the dining-table. 

The first evening spent by the young couple under their own roof 
passed quietly, not to say heavily. Carmen still labored under her 
feelings of depression, which all Veres efforts failed to remove, and 
la* missed the light-hearted sallies and evident enjoyment which had 
usually accompanied their tete-a-tete dinners at the Parisian restau- 
rants. The contrast between those brilliantly illuminated and gor- 
geously decorated establishments and their small dark salle-a-man- 
ger was striking even to Vere; and although, for his own part, he 
preferred the quiet and peaceful chez soi, he could make allowance 
for Carmen’s feelings, particularly as he judged she was tired with 
the journey and the excitement of the day. Thus he raised no ob- 
jection when she expressed her intention of retiring early. After 


IF LOVE BE LOv'E. 


41 


kissing her and wishing her bonne nuit et bon repos , he sallied forth 
with his pipe for a moonlight stroll. Tempted by the beauty of the 
night, and occupied with busy thoughts, he wandered farther than 
lie had any intention, and finally losing his way, arrived home hours 
after his small household had retired to rest. 

As lie bent tenderly over his wife’s pillow he was filled with com- 
punction on discovering, by unmistakable signs, that she had cried 
herself to sleep'. Her bosom was still heaving with convulsive sobs, 
and his first impulse was to awaken her and kiss away her tears. 
Thinking, however, that a night’s repose would do her more good 
than the explanation which would keep until the morrow, he did 
not disturb her slumber. 

As soon as he awoke next morning he hastened to inform Carmen 
of the cause of his prolonged absence, and displayed so much genu- 
ine contrition for the anxiety he had unwittingly caused her that 
she felt unable to give expression to the tumultuous wrath which 
had possessed her overnight. 

None the less the memory of that, unhappy incident rankled in 
the girl’s breast, and served as a rallying-point for future misunder- 
standings. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ Give me that man 

That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him 
In my heart’s core, aye, in my heart of hearts, 

As I do thee.”— S hakespeare. 

M. de Malsherbes was a type of a class by no means uncommon 
among his countrymen, and not unknown in an anglicized form on 
this side of the Channel. Pride, poverty, and indolence had proved 
the destruction of a career which opened full of hope and promise. 

An only child, doted on and spoiled by his widowed mother, the 
seductions of Paris and a life of self-indulgence had deadened and 
finally extinguished the spark of genius and that aspiration after 
“ better things ” innate in the well-cultured youth of alert intelligence 
and keen sympathies. 

The happiest and the most miserable periods of his existence had 
been spent in the ancient chateau in which he now vegetated — a sol- 
itary recluse. Here he was born, here he passed his happy childhood 
— a childhood tinged with the poetry of its surroundings — and hith- 
er he had returned a ruined and disappointed man, his youthful am- 
bition anti bright anticipations dead, and buried beneath the memory 
of past follies and wasted opportunities. 

Still he did not repent. He would not admit that he had only 
himself to blame, that his life had proved a failure. No; he cursed 
rather the fate which had left him heir to a great name, and with 
a fortune disproportionate to the wants of a young nobleman of 
fashion. 


.42 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


And if he recalled regretfully the days when, having gained his 
baccalaureat, family influence procured his appointment as attache 
to the Minist&re des Affaires Etrangeres — when high hopes of ad- 
vancement and distinction tilled his breast, it was only to bemoan 
the evil fortune that would not allow a limited income to suffice for 
an extravagant expenditure, and that led ultimately to debt, dis- 
grace, and dismissal from his official position. 

Another ground for reproach that he held against the fickle god- 
dess was the rupture of a match with a great heiress, daughter of 
a wealthy sugar-refiner, arranged toilsomely by his fond mother at 
no small sacrifice of her personal feelings, in the hope of redeeming 
her son’s shattered fortunes. Mademoiselle Brunois was young, 
pretty, and amiable, and the large settlements which her father was 
prepared to make in exchange for Victor’s title and social position 
would have enabled the young man to extricate himself from debt, 
and start in life anew with all the advantages and prestige of wealth. 
But this was before the final crash, and while the young vicomte 
was still in the heyday of his enjoyment of the pleasures and fasci- 
nations of la vie Parisienne. His credit was still good, or, at any 
rate, he thought it so, and there was still enough honorable pride 
left in him to make the idea of marrying solely for money — fashion- 
able and of every-day occurrence as it was — appear mean and derog- 
atory to his dignity as the descendant of a noble race. Unfortu- 
nately, the form in which he elected to evince his repugnance was 
by treating his intended and her family de haut en ban; and, to 
make matters worse, he persisted in paying public attentions to a 
fashionable beauty, notorious for her powers of devouring the fort- 
unes of the jeuntsse doree whom she lured by her charms to their 
certain destruction. 

Now, Monsieur Brunois was not more thin-skinned than are most 
of his compatriots in such matters; but he was of opinion that the 
indiscretions which society winks at in high-born bachelors should, 
if continued, be at least decently veiled when matrimonial projects 
were in view. And, further, he had no intention that his daughter’s 
fortune should be squandered in supplying the insatiable wants of 
this divinity of the lower world for all the chic that a liaison with 
her was supposed to lend to those who could afford to bask in her 
costly smiles. 

Accordingly, he took occasion to hint as much to the vicomte, 
but finding his advice coldly received and openly disregarded, he 
addressed his remonstrances yet more emphatically to the young 
man’s mother, by whom the negotiations had been at first set on 
foot. 

Mme. de Malsherbes was a pious lady of exemplary moral charac 
ter, and, in the abstract, viewed the so-called gay life which her son 
was leading with horror and reprobation. But though she found 
it difficult to reconcile his behavior with her inmost feelings and re- 
ligious beliefs, the fact remained that he was but following the ex- 
ample of his father, and, indeed, of all the well-born youths of his 
class. “I know it’s wrong,” she used to say to herself; “ but 1 can- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


43 


not expect my son to act differently to those of his own set. I sup- 
pose le bon jDieu shuts his eyes to the follies of young men, or He 
never would permit Parisian society to remain as it is. Or, perhaps, 
it may be to give us poor mothers a chance of saving their souls by 
our prayers.” So the good lady spent her days in praying to the 
Virgin to preserve her son from the wiles of her own sex, and never 
lost her faith in and hopes of him, although his selfish extravagance 
was fast dissipating not only his own resources, but her small fort- 
une as well. 

Thus, while acknowledging to herself the justice of the complaint 
lodged by Monsieur Brunois, she replied by taking up the cudgels 
in defence of her darling son, and caused uo small astonishment to 
the worthy manufacturer — brought up in the more healthy atmos- 
phere of middle-class and provincial life — by the naivete of some of 
the arguments which she adduced in justification of his conduct. 
Nevertheless, she promised to exert all her influence to induce her 
son to break off the obnoxious intimacy, and adopt a course of life 
better becoming a man about to enter the married state. 

Unfortunately, in trying to enforce her plea, Mme. de Malsherbes 
repeated the threat uttered by Monsieur Brunois, that the next ap 
pearance of the vicomte in public with the frail fair one would be 
the signal for the termination of the engagement. The mere fact of 
a threat being employed against him by a man whom he regarded 
as a being of an inferior class, one to whom a De Malsherbes was 
already displaying too much condescension in deigning to barter his 
patrician blood against a fortune gained in trade, sufficed to set the 
infatuated youth’s pride up in arms. 

“Does the sugar stick maker think I am going to be ordered 
about like one of his employes?” he asked, indignantly. “No. 
mother, I may break with Coralie because it suits me, and because 
you ask it, but certainly not at the command of Monsieur Brunois, 
to become the laughing-stock of all Paris!” And so, having prom- 
ised to accompany his inamorata to the theatre that evening, he 
braved Monsieur Brunois’ indignation, and appeared in all his empty 
glory in an avant scene at the Folks Bergeres. 

That entertainment was the most ruinous of the many extrava- 
gances in which the young vicomte had indulged since he had taken 
to posing as a leader of la mode. It cost him his bride and a fort- 
une of at least two million francs, and, to crown his mortifications, 
Mademoiselle Coralie was in an execrable humor, which she took 
no pains to conceal. 

Monsieur Brunois, justly incensed at the reckless disregard of his 
washes, wrote a formal note requesting a discontinuance of the vi- 
comte’s visits, and, the intelligence soon spreading, brought Victor’s 
hitherto obliging creditors down upon him en masse. 

Hopelessly involved, the young man was forced to give up his 
diplomatic appointment and quit Paris, after settling his debts at 
the sacrifice of all the available fortune that he and his long-suffer- 
ing mother possessed. 

In his first access of rage and despair, Victor seriously contem 


44 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


plated suicide, or, failing that, enlisting as a volunteer in the Afri- 
can army, where he hoped he might meet death in a more honorable 
and less repugnant form. However, his mother’s entreaties, and 
• the alarming state of her health engendered by a long period of anx- 
iety and over-excitement, induced him to forego his wild projects. 

Fortunately, the ancestral chateau still remained to them, being 
settled on Mine, de Malsherbes under her husband’s will, and thith- 
er mother and son returned in their hour of trial. Heart-broken 
and fearful for her son’s future, the old lady lingered on for a 
few years, never breathing a word of reproach against the author of 
their misery, although the sad contrast of their present poverty- 
stricken existence with their former comfort and comparative afflu- 
ence was sapping her strength and hurrying her to her grave. 

When she died, Victor, who had conceived an inordinate aversion 
to Paris and its ways, continued the style of life to which he had 
now grown accustomed. He had always fancied himself gifted 
with poetic instincts, and employed much of his leisure in writing 
verses which were never destined to see the light of day, as he could 
find no publishers sufficiently enterprising to print his works except 
at his own cost, and this was a luxury he could not afford. How 
ever, his literary pursuits, combined with those of the chase, sup- 
plied him with sufficient occupation and made life worth living, al- 
though devoid of the gayeties and pleasures which a few T years be- 
fore had been his only aim and object. 

The advent of near neighbors, in the persons of Vere Danvers and 
his youthful bride, not unnaturally caused considerable interest in 
the mind of M. de Malsherbes. In j^ears he was still a young man; 
but since his fiasco of ten years before, he had so complete^ with- 
drawn himself from society that he had grown to consider himself 
quite proof against feminine charms, and a confirmed bachelor. 
Having been officially acquainted with the father of the Demoiselles 
Delaforet, and owning besides the land on which their establishment 
stood, he had received an invitation to Carmen’s wedding festivities. 
Moved by some sudden vagary, he went, and was much struck with 
the surpassing loveliness of the bride, and not a little flattered by 
the flutter of excitement caused by his appearance in the little hour 
geois circle. Another source of gratification was the discovery that, 
lie had not lost the elegant mannerisms and the trick of polite con 
versation on which he had prided himself in the days when he was 
a frequenter of fashionable salons. It seemed like a new breath of 
life to associate once more with people younger and brighter than 
the crusty old steward and his wife, who for many years had been 
his sole personal attendants and companions; and he returned to his 
gloomy residence with the determination to break through his soli- 
tary habits and to cultivate the acquaintance of his new tenants. 

Accordingly, a few days after their return from Paris, M. de Mal- 
sherbes, having donned his most fashionable — or least old-fashioned 
— garments, and after taking unusual pains over the arrangement of 
his hair and his necktie, sallied forth to pay a formal visit to the 
young couple. Although there was a short cut across the park 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


45 


from the chateau to the chalet, he thought that he was not yet on' 
sufficiently intimate terms to avail himself of les petites entrees, and 
took the long circuit round by the road. 

Arrived at Beaurivage, the vicomte was assured of the presence of 
its mistress by the sweet tones which rang through the closed per- 
siennes of the little salon. Carmen was singing her favorite ‘ - Adieu,” 
and M. de Malsherbes thought he had never heard diviner melody. 
Indeed, since he had quitted Paris, music, like mirth and light-heart- 
edness, had been to him a dead language. To hear it thus again, 
just when he had determined to make another grasp at happiness 
and sociability, seemed to him a good omen. To his poetic fancy, 
the adieu was addressed to his ten years of solitary existence, to the 
gloom and morbid depression which had prematurely aged him , 
and the fair singer was to be at once the prophetess and the instru- 
ment of his conversion. In the exaltation of the moment he forgot 
to observe the formalities due to the occasion, and entering the ves- 
tibule, tapped at the door of the salon, without pausing to have Ins 
visit announced. So eager was he to express his gratitude and de- 
light, that he scarcely waited for Carmen's “ Entrez x ” before he 
thrust open the door and stood before her. 

“ Thanks, a thousand thanks, dear madame; I have been in heav- 
en!” he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes; then, remarking Carmen’s 
look of surprise, he continued more composedly, “ Pray, forgive me 
for my unwarrantable intrusion, but your sweet music conquered 
me — took me out of myself. Can you picture to yourself a solitary 
dweller in a sandy desert suddenly transported to a cool and shady 
flower-garden— a captive, unexpectedly restored to light, life, and 
friends? Because, if so, you will understand and pardon my emo- 
tion.” 

Carmen had alwa} r s understood that M. de Malsherbes was rather 
eccentric, so, controlling her first surprise, she rose from the piano, 
and, murmuring a few words of welcome, begged her visitor to be 
seated. 

“You think me strange and abrupt, no doubt; but I assure you, 
dear lady, that I entertain for you none but feelings of the deepest 
respect. I am a poet, and unhappy, and you have unlocked the 
door which barred my aspirations after happiness. Unconsciously, 
perhaps; but still, you have done it, and can I content myself with 
mere conventionalities? You are the first ray of light — the first 
glimpse of the beautiful, that has gladdened my eyes for these ten 
years. Some other time I will strive to explain myself more fully, to 
express my gratitude more fitly; now, I can only say merci et par- 
don," and. the vicomte, bending over her little hand, reverently im- 
pressed a kiss upon it. 

The evident genuineness of his emotion and the tender deference 
of his demeanor prevented Carmen from feeling any actual alarm at 
this unexpected outburst from a Comparative stranger, still, she 
could not repress a slight sensation of nervousness. 

“ I am very sorry my husband is not at home,” she observed, with 
more sincerity than such a remark generally implies. “ Yesterday 


46 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


was ray reception day, and, not expecting any visitors, Vere has 
gone out sketching in the forest.” 

“I, too, regret his absence,” replied the vicomte, regaining his 
self-command. “But, since we are such near neighbors, I hope I 
may be allowed to dispense with ceremony — as, for the matter of 
that. I have done to-day— and drop in to see him on some future oc- 
casion. My friends are not so numerous that I can afford to lose 
the chance of making new ones, and the sight of youth and beauty 
makes me feel young again.” 

“Indeed you must have felt lonely in that big place without 
friends,” said Carmen, softening under the influence of his subtle 
flattery. 

“Lonely! Ah, madame, lonely is not the word to express my 
wretchedness But that is past and gone, if I am to be honored with 
your friendship; and I will not sadden your ears with a recital of 
my woes Are these pictures your husband’s? How charmingly 
he paints.” 

“Yes, but these are by no means his best. You did not see his 
great picture in the Salon last spring? It was very much praised, 
and justly so, I think.” 

“ You have reason to be proud What a glorious mistress is Art! 
Humble votary as I am, I owe it to her that life has been possible 
to me since my misfortunes.” 

The vicomte looked so interestingly handsome as lie uttered these 
words in a soft under-tone, passing his hand the while over his 
brow with a gesture of subdued melancholy, that Carmen felt quite 
sorry for him. For years past his name had been familiar to her. 
The romantic history attaching to the poet recluse had been the sub- 
ject of engrossing interest to several generations of pemionnaires at 
Mademoiselle Delaforet’s school, and the thought that she alone of 
them all— indeed, of the entire world of Boisy-la-Beine — should be 
the chosen recipient of his confidences, filled her with secret gratifi- 
cation and pride. For a moment she hesitated whether to give ex- 
pression to her sympathy, but fearing to display her ignorance of the 
ways of the beau monde, she simply said, “I can well believe it; 
Art appears to be all-absorbing, all sufficient — at any rate, for men. 
My husband is so wrapped up in his, that I sometimes almost feel 
inclined to be jealous of it.” 

“But, surely, if it is a case of rivalry between Art and Love, the 
latter must prevail when you are its exponent?” exclaimed the vi- 
comte, with a look of surprise which thinly veiled intense admiration. 

As yet, the girl’s heart was all her husband’s. Experience, indeed, 
had taught her that the actual did not attain to the ideal, and she 
sometimes felt a secret longing for a more ardent and sympathetic 
devotion than Yere seemed capable of offering. Still, no thought 
of possible evil from allowing a stranger to burn incense on the altar 
which should be sacred to one alone, crossed her mind. Naturally 
ambitious, and with a newly awakened thirst for admiration strong 
upon her, she accepted the vicomte’s outspoken homage as a wel- 
come tribute to her fascinations. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


47 


“Ah! M. le Vicomte, you speak as a poet, and with a poet’s 
warmth of language, while my husband speaks and thinks through 
his brush, reserving for his canvas the expression of his deepest 
thoughts and tenderest feelings, " rejoined Carmeu, after a pause — 
smiling and blushing with charming coquetry. 

“With such a sweet inspiration and model always at his side, 
small wonder that his paintings teem with life and beauty; although 
I marvel that he has not rather chosen figures instead of landscapes 
as a subject for his pencil.” 

“ Well, you must come some other day when he is at home, and 
convert him to your views, " she replied, as a hint that their tete-a- 
tete had lasted long enough. 

“With all my heart. Whgt little I know of Monsieur Danvers 
makes me long to cultivate a closer acquaintanceship. I shall hope 
to persuade him to do me the honor of accepting such hospitality 
as my poor chateau is still able to dispense;” and M. de Malsher 
bes rose and bent gracefully over her hand preparatory to taking his 
leave. 

Carmen flushed with pleasure as she bade him adieu. This was a 
genuine social success. To be invited to the residence of the proud 
and exclusive vicomte would at once elevate her in the eyes of Boisy 
la-Reine to an unassailable position and influence. 

Just then the door was opened softly, and the servant entered the 
room. 

“ Ah, pardon! I was not aware madame had visitors,” exclaimed 
the woman, preparing to retire. 

“ Stay, Louise! Attend M. le Yicomte to the door,” said Carmen, 
gently withdrawing her hand from her visitor’s grasp and courtesy 
ing in response to his elaborate salutation. 

Louise cast a quick glance of curiosity towards her mistress, and 
followed M. de Malsherbes out of the room. 

“They are beginning well — these turtle-doves,” she muttered, as 
she stood in the doorway w r atching the retreating form of the dis- 
tinguished visitor, and then returned to her work— a sinister smile 
playing around her lips. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“I have no other but a woman’s reason — 

I think him so because I think him so.” 

Shakespeare. 

Prior to Vere's rupture with his father, Psyche had been prime 
favorite at Danverfield. She w'as the only member of the family 
from whom the squire would brook even the semblance of contra- 
diction, and, strange to say, he admired in her the independence of 
thought and speech which he stamped out so ruthlessly in his own 
children. 


48 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Nevertheless, his autocratic temper would not allow him to ignore 
such flagrant disregard of his express commands as she had evinced 
by her open championship of his rebellious son, and, to Psyche’s no 
small regret, although she was too proud to own it, she had fallen 
deep into her uncle’s bad graces. 

Yet, notwithstanding his avowed displeasure, lie cherished in his 
heart of hearts a secret admiration for the girl’s pluck and stead- 
fastness, and longed to find an excuse for a reconciliation. 

“Let her say she is sorry for her disobedience, and promise not to 
repeat it,,” he wrote on several occasions to his brother, “and I am 
ready to overlook the past and forgive the little minx.” But Psyche 
could be as firm as he was in what she considered to be a just cause, 
and neither persuasions nor threats could prevail upon her to aban- 
don her correspondence with Vere, nor to admit that he deserved 
the harsh treatment lie had received at his father’s hands. 

At last, after a lapse of years, her uncle’s wrath having considerably 
cooled down in the mean time, he instructed his submissive wife to 
send Psyche an invitation free of all conditions. “The obstinate 
little puss has beaten me,” lie owned to himself, more than half in 
clinecl to be proud that she alone of all the family had dared to meas- 
ure her will with his. Even in yielding, however, he sheltered his 
capitulation behind his wife’s desire to see her niece once more. 

Psyche was clever enough to read between the lines, and feeling 
sure that, without the squire’s consent and approval, Mrs. Danvers 
would never have dared to hold out the olive-branch, rejoiced ex- 
ceedingly over her victory as a good omen for Yere’s future for- 
giveness. 

The affection which the girl had always entertained for her favor- 
ite cousin had grown stronger and deeper in face of the opposition 
of her relations and their cowardly concurrence in his father’s un- 
natural fiat of ostracism and banishment. She regarded Vere as a 
martyr to her uncle’s invincible obstinacy. And since he had had 
the courage not only to assert his right to choose a career for him- 
self, but had manfully fought his way unaided to a position full of 
promise, the sympathy and sense of outraged justice which had first 
brought her to his side had given place to a tenderer* feeling, which 
was something more than mere cousinly regard. 

Yere had become her hero, her beau-ideal of everything noble and 
good in man. Circumstances, indeed, had prevented that personal 
intercourse without which love— at any rate, in its earlier stages — is 
starved and pinched like a flower bereft of sunshine; but the seeds 
of a strong attachment were sown, and, though buried deep in her 
heart, lay ready to break forth and blossom on the slightest encour- 
agement. 

The first intimation of this state of her feelings was the dull, cold 
pang of disappointment, almost of despair, called forth by the in- 
telligence of his engagement to Carmen Mendes. In vain she told 
herself that the union of her tw T o dearest friends was a subject for 
rejoicing and congratulation, and one for which she herself was, to 
some extent, answerable. The sense of desolation and void that 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


49 


wrung her heart when she thought of a future in which Vere would 
belong to another— torn out of her life like a page from a book, there- 
by rendering it incomplete and purposeless— belied the arguments by 
which she strove to convince herself that she was glad and happy. 

Nevertheless, with that power of self-abnegation which is woman’s 
noblest attribute, she conquered her rebellious feelings, and forced 
herself not only to write her felicitations on an event which she now 
knew was a death-blow to her own happiness, but resolved to re- 
double her efforts to reinstate Yere in his father’s favor. What she 
suffered during the conflict no human soul ever knew. Throughout 
she was unremitting in her attentions to her fretful and invalid moth- 
er. and her friends attributed the pallor which displaced the roses of 
health on her cheeks and the disappearance of her wonted gayety to 
the arduous duties of her position as sick-nurse, which no persuasion 
could induce her to relinquish. 

At length, to the relief of all, Mrs. Danvers regained in some meas- 
ure her health, and Psyche, who, now that the crisis was past, felt the 
need of a change of air and scene, was enabled to avail herself of her 
aunt’s invitation. 

Danverfield was a long, low, straggling building, or rather accu- 
mulation of buildings. Originally a farm-house, it still retained its 
unpretentious appearance, although the addition of wings and bay- 
windows, and the conversion of a cart-track into a carriage-drive 
flanked b} r a fine avenue of chestnuts, had raised it from a simple 
homestead to an abode suitable for a gentleman of position and means. 

The entrance-hall, which showed signs of having once been the 
kitchen and family dwelling-room, was spacious, but low. A large 
fire-place, with stone dogs and an enormous carved chimney-piece, 
stood at one end. The oak-panelled walls were hung with antlers, 
foxes’ masks and brushes, hunting-crops, guns, fishing-rods, and all 
the paraphernalia of the chase. Long rafters, blackened by age and 
smoke, crossed the ceiling from side to side, and from that nearest 
the outer door depended curtains of dark red material, which lent au 
air of snuguess to the apartment, whither on winter evenings the 
squire was accustomed to resort for his after-supper pipe. 

Adjoining the hall was the business and justice room — another 
remnant of the old house — which was severely plain in its style of 
decoration and furniture. In it one seemed to breathe an atmosphere 
of stern, cold, uncompromising justice, untempered by mercy. The 
very chairs appeared to reflect the hard, unbending nature of the 
man who therein ruled supreme, and no delinquent could attend a 
summons thither without feeling that to enter was to “leave hope 
behind.” 

The corresponding apartment on the other side served as an ante- 
chamber to the drawing-room, which was lofty and well propor- 
tioned, and furnished with some pretensions to luxury and taste, 
and marked the transition in the family fortunes that had occurred 
when one of the present squire’s ancestors had unexpectedly succeed- 
ed to a considerable legacy. 

Notwithstanding their advance in the social scale, the old class in- 

4 


50 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


stinct and habits had clung to the succeeding generations of the Dan- 
vers family. Farmers they had been from time immemorial, and 
farmers they remained — with this difference, that their acres were 
now counted by hundreds instead of by tens, and that the land was 
their own, constantly added to with jealous eagerness by each inher- 
itor of the estate. 

The present squire, like his father before him, was old-fashioned 
and simple in his tastes. The only extravagance in which he in- 
dulged was in keeping a pack of harriers and a stable filled with the 
best horses that knowledge and money could procure. In fact, his 
stud was so well known that many a “thruster” from the shires 
journeyed down to Yorkshire and submitted to the comparatively 
tame sport to be had with the Danverfield Harriers for the chance 
of picking up something that would carry him well to the front at 
Rugby or Melton. 

Psyche owed her position in her uncle’s estimation in no small de- 
gree to the fact that she was a skilful and fearless horsewoman, 
whereas, to his great chagrin, none of his own daughters ever took 
kindly to the pig-skin. From her earliest girlhood a visit to Dan- 
verfield during the hunting season had been her greatest delight, and 
one that for a considerable number of years she had enjoyed more 
or less regularly. 

The sacrifice of this pleasure, which she had been forced to makQ 
for the sake of her constancy to Yere’s cause, had been by no means 
one of the lightest of her trials, and it was with delightful anticipa- 
tions of its renewal that she added her riding apparel to her list of 
requisites for the present visit. 

Although Danverfield was not more than twenty miles distant 
from Scarboro’, it was eight miles from the nearest railway-station. 
According to arrangement , Psyche’s brother Charlie, who since Yere’s 
departure had acted as the squire’s bailiff, drove over in a dog-cart 
to meet her. 

“ You’ll find the old boy as crotchety as ever, or more so, if possi- 
ble,” said Charlie, in reply to one of her first and most anxious in- 
quiries. “I never in my life came across such a Tartar. I declare 
I don’t wonder that Vere cut it— I would myself, like a shot, if it 
wasn’t for the guv’nor. The old brute works me like a galley-slave, 
and treats me like one too.” 

“Why don’t you stand your ground and give it him back like 
a man?” asked Psyche, laughing at her brother’s dolorous visage. 
“It’s just because everybody cringes to him that he rides rough- 
shod over them. I won’t — you’ll see.” 

“Oh, it’s all very well for you. You’re a girl, and a favorite; 
and then you’re not dependent on the old curmudgeon as I am. Be- 
sides, he treats all alike — wife, daughters, and servants — and it’s not 
easy to make a stand by one’s self.” 

“ Well, he will have to reckon with me now,” cried the girl, with 
a determined smile; “and if he bullies my little brother in my pres- 
ence I shall give him a piece of my mind, whether he likes it or not. 
By-the-bye, isn’t Bessie staying there?” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


51 


“ Yes; she and her husband and belongings arrived last week, but 
the squire cares no more for his son-in-law — all captain that he is — 
than he does for me or the Pope. I believe he’ll bully ‘ the old 
gentleman ’ himself when be goes below, and if he doesn’t make the 
place too hot to hold them both, I’m a Dutchman! It’s even betting 
that the squire kicks ‘ old Nick ’ out, and ‘ rules the roast ’ in his 
stead.” 

Come, Charlie, it’s too bad to talk like that of poor uncle Hugh, 
lie’s like the other ‘old gentleman,’ not so black as he’s painted. 
The fact is, he’s been spoiled by always being treated like a little 
king, and never having anybody to contradict him.” 

“ D you mean to come that game, it’s hardly worth troubling to 
unpack your trunk — you’ll be bound back home again by to-mor- 
row, ’’said Charlie, gloomily. “You don’t know how savage he’s 
grown since Vere -left,” 

“Poor old man! that’s a good sign. It shows he’s ashamed of 
his unnatural behavior; and I mean to make him more ashamed still 
before I’ve done.” 

“ Then all I can say is, that I shall try to get leave of absence for 
a few weeks; for if you begin talking about Vere you’ll have the 
house down between you.” 

“Don’t be afraid! I know the measure of my ad versary , ” cried 
Psyche, laughing gayly. “ Besides, remember, I am going in the 
proud position of a conqueror, with all the prestige of victory. But 
come, you haven’t told me about the horses. What has become of 
my favorite Norah, and how have the Fire-king colts turned out?” 

“ Norah is still to the fore, and as fresh on her legs as ever, and the 
squire sold one of the colts to Lord Temple for two hundred guin- 
eas, ’’replied her brother, who then proceeded to give a detailed ac- 
count of the stud, which served to entertain Psyche until they reached 
their destination. 

As the cart drew up in front of the house Mrs. Danvers appeared 
at the door with two or three maid-servants, while a youth, com- 
pound of groom and farm-laborer, ran to the horse’s head. 

“Welcome, a thousand times, my darling,” cried the old lady, 
folding her niece in her arms. “I can’t tell you how delighted I 
am to see you after all these years.” 

“And I you, dear aunt,” replid Psyche, returning her embrace. 
“And how are uncle Hugh and Mary and all the rest?” 

“ All pretty well. Come in, my dear, your uncle is in his room; 
I dare say he’ll come out when he knows you have arrived.” So 
saying, Mrs. Danvers led Psyche into the hall and proceeded to 
divest her of her cloak and hat. 

After waiting a little time and gazing nervously towards the door 
of the squire’s sanctum in expectation of his appearance, the old 
lady shook her head sadly, and proceeded to conduct her niece to 
her bedroom, telling her that tea would be served in tiie dining- 
room in half an hour. “Don’t trouble to dress, my dear, for your 
uncle doesn’t like to be kept waiting, but come down-stairs as soon 
us you have made yourself comfortable. I do hope he’ll be in a 


52 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


good humor— you’ll find him sadly changed. Now I’ll send Sarah 
to unpack your things, and I will leave you to yourself for a little 
while;” and Mrs. Danvers trotted away to forward the preparations 
for the meal. 

Having performed a hurried toilet, Psyche descended to the din- 
ing-room. Here she found the little party assembled, consisting of 
her aunt, her cousin Mary — the only unmarried daughter — Captain 
Compton and his wife, and her brother Charlie. As the clock struck 
six the door opened and Mr. Danvers entered the room. 

“Tea not ready yet,” he remarked, in a grumbling tone— “al- 
ways behind time; I never knew such an unpunctual household.” 
Then noticing the new arrival, he turned towards her and held out 
his hand: “How t are you, my dear? You’ve been long enough 
making up your mind to come and see us.” 

Psyche rose, and pressing her lips against her uncle’s withered 
cheek, replied, with a saucy smile, “ It’s not entirely my fault — is 
it, now, uncle? But never mind, here I am at last, and here I mean 
to stay till you are tired of me, or I am wanted at home. ” 

Mrs. Danvers and her daughters looked on anxiously during this 
little defiant speech, expecting a wrathful rejoinder. However, the 
old man contented himself with thrusting the girl playfully back, 
calling her a “saucy young baggage,” and then, disregardful of his 
other visitors, addressed himself to his tea and muffins, which, in 
the mean time, the servants had brought into the room. 

Strange to say, all ill-mannered tyrant that he was, the squire’s 
outward appearance was eminently prepossessing. A fine open 
brow crowned with a profusion of silvery white hair, bright blue 
eyes, and regular features, seemed to betoken a cultivated and be- 
nevolent disposition. But either Dame Nature had indulged in a 
puck-like spirit of perversity when she clothed this cross-grained, 
self-willed being with so godlike a form, or else the selfish and un- 
checked exercise of power had distorted gifts and qualities capable, 
when rightly used, of the greatest good into mere instruments of 
evil. 

The only indication of the true temper of the man lay in a cer- 
tain shiftiness in his eyes, somewhat similar to that observable in a 
vicious horse ; and those who knew him well and had cause to dread 
his anger could generally presage the coming outbreak from the 
lightning glance, followed by a fixed mulish stare into vacancy, 
which means mischief in either quadruped or biped. 

When in a good-humor, Mr. Danvers was as agreeable a compan- 
ion as one would wish to have. Although not highly educated, nor 
deeply read, he possessed a fund of information about matters ap- 
pertaining to his own vocation. And when he chose, he could pour 
forth a stream of racy and amusing anecdotes, full of quaint humor 
and displaying considerable powers of memory and observation. 
But, unfortunately, the occasions when he saw tit to exert himseif 
to please others were few and far between, and of late years his evil 
genius preponderated. The happiest days of his life were those 
passed in the saddle and occupied in following his hounds; but 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


53 


even his hunting friends remarked that he displayed less hearty en- 
joyment in his favorite sport, and had become more prone to find 
fault with either hounds or field on the slightest provocation. 

Mixing little with other men, except in his capacity of master, 
the pride and self-will which had always been his besetting sins be- 
came ingrained in his nature, and the habits of command, which he 
exercised in field and kennel, were practised with undiminished 
rigor at his own fireside. 

What little restraining influence his wife — a gentle, tender-hearted 
lady — ever possessed, had lapsed through disuse and the growth of 
years, which tended to strengthen her habits of unquestioning sub- 
mission and his autocratic self-assertion. Their children had been 
thoroughly indoctrinated with the belief that their father’s will was 
law; and even now, all grown-up men and women as they were, 
with the solitary exception of Vere, none ventured to question his 
authority. 

Formerly, provided always that he was never thwarted nor con- 
tradicted, the squire was accustomed to display a certain rough af- 
fection towards his family and dependents, which compensated for 
a good deal of ill-usage and bad temper. His rare marks of favor 
were treasured up as proofs of the goodness of his heart; for, like 
dogs, human beings have a natural inclination to worship a master- 
ful^ master, and to think more of an occasional caress from the hand 
that beats them than of all the tenderness lavished by those who 
seek to rule by love alone. 

But of late years, age and growing infirmities, and — although he 
would not admit it himself— a secret pining after the son he had so 
sternly driven from his home, had blotted out even these few bright 
spots, leaving his character an unhappy blending of dull gloominess 
and morose savagery. The very obedience and submission to 
which he had been at so much trouble to train his surroundings 
had become irksome to him. He dreaded opposition with a morbid 
nervousness; and yet, with the strange perversity of a disordered 
mind, he positively hated his wife and family for having allowed 
him to exile his favorite son, and for obeying his behests in never 
interceding on Yere’s behalf, nor daring even to mention his name. 

Thus the advent of Psyche— the outspoken and courageous cham- 
pion of her disgraced cousin — was almost as much a matter of con- 
gratulation to the wrong-headed and unhappy old man as to the 
sorrowing mother, who, although compelled to silence, had never 
ceased to yearn after her absent boy. 

The evening meal passed pleasantly enough in general conversa- 
tion, and without any of the outbursts of ill-temper to which all 
were now accustomed on the part of the squire, even in the pres- 
ence of visitors. Captain Compton, who had spent the day in shoot- 
ing over the farm, gave an amusing account of his performances, 
and finding the old gentleman in such an unwonted good-humor, 
ventured to confess to having shot a hen- pheasant, which he had 
flushed in the stubbles, in mistake for a partridge. Mr. Danvers, as 
a rule, treated his son-in-law quite as one of the family, that is, he 


54 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 

bullied him like the rest, and mercilessly ridiculed the mistakes into 
which the captain, although a keen sportsman, was continually led, 
owing to his defective vision. On this occasion, however, he con- 
tented himself with remarking, with a grim smile, 

“I’m ashamed of you, Compton, a man wearing her Majesty’s 
uniform, to go breaking the law like any common poacher — shoot- 
ing pheasants in September. We shall have you potting hares in 
their forms next, or adding a fox or two to your bag. You’re quite 
competent for that after your practice on the dogs.” 

This jocose reference to a former unhappy exploit raised a gen- 
eral laugh, under cover of which the ladies withdrew to the draw- 
ing-room. 

Mary Danvers, knowing that her mother was burning to have a 
confidential chat with Psyche, accompanied her sister up stairs on 
a vi&it to the children. “I am so glad you are come, dear,” she 
said to Psyche as she passed out. “Father hasn’t been so cheerful 
for along time.” 

“ I hope you won’t let her go while I and Horace are here, if she 
can only keep him in a good-liumor,” joined in Bessie, following 
her sister. “ Horace swears he’ll never come again to be badgered 
as he has been during the past week.” 

As soon as they were alone, Mrs. Danvers turned to her niece. 

“ Well, dearest, what news of my poor boy?” * 

“He was very well when I last heard, and happy in his new con- 
dition,” replied Psyche, forcing a smile, though the words called up 
bitter memories. 

“ Is he quite happy? Is she all that he could wish? I can’t quite 
understand dear, dreamy old Vere selecting a fiery Spaniard for his 
wife.” 

“ She selected him — or, rather, it w T as a case of mutual attraction. 
Carmen is very beautiful and bewitching,” said Psyche, smothering 
a sigh. 

“ Well, you know her, and I don’t; but I confess I would rather 
he had married an Englishwoman. Wouldn’t you, dear, yourself?” 

“He must be the best judge in a matter which so entirely con- 
cerns his own happiness. Does Uncle Hugh know ? Have you 
told him?” 

“No, dear; to tell the truth, I didn’t dare. You know he for- 
bade me ever to speak to him of Vere again; and, really, he has 
been so strange and excitable of late, that I feared for the conse- 
quences of so sudden and startling a disclosure.” 

“ But surely he must be told sooner or later?” 

“ Well, yes, I suppose so. But do you know, my dear, I’m sadly ’ 
afraid that, with your uncle’s prejudice against foreigners, the in- 
telligence might render a reconciliation almost impossible. And I 
sometimes hope that he is beginning to relent.” 

“ Indeed, 1 am glad to hear it,” cried Psyche, joyfully, “for the 
sake of all.” 

“I knew you would be, you dear, brave girl!” said the old lady, 
\vith.tears in her eyes. “ You have been Vere’s truest friend. You 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


55 


put his mother to shame. But ah ! if you could know what I have 
suffered, and how I long to clasp the dear boy once again in my 
arms, to assure him that my duty to his father has alone prevented 
me from flying to his side long ago.” 

“He knows, dear, that it was no fault of yours,” said Psyche, 
softly caressing the old lady’s withered cheek. “Don’t fret your- 
self. One day all will come right, and you will have him home 
again.” 

“Please God it may happen before I die. It’s all I have to live 
for now,” replied Mrs. Danvers, mournfully. 

“ It will happen before long, dear aunt, I promise you. Uncle 
Hugh can’t resist me when my mind is made up, and I will give 
him no peace till he relents.” 

Further confidences were interrupted by the entrance of Captain 
Compton and Charlie. 

“The squire’s a new man since your arrival,” cried the latter, 
embracing his sister. “He talks of taking the hounds out to-mor- 
row morning early, and wishes to know if you will ride Norah or 
Peacock.” 

“Oh, how delightful!” exclaimed the girl, her eyes lighting with 
pleasure. ‘ ‘ I think I must give my old friend Norah the preference. ” 

“ You haven’t seen Peacock; he’s a beauty. Eyes like a gazelle, 
lovely little ears, and such shoulders, and such quarters. Jumps 
like a deer, too!” said Charlie, enthusiastically. 

“He’s rather eccentric in his movements, though,” remarked the 
captain, dryly. “Not unlike an exaggerated flea. I took him out 
the other day, and he promptly displayed his lumping powers by 
bucking me over his head.” 

“He wouldn’t be so ungallant to a lady, I am sure,” laughed 
Psyche. “Anyway, I’ll put him to the test one of these days if I 
get the chance. ” 

“ Pray don’t run any risk, my dear,” said Mrs. Danvers, anxious- 
ly. “I don’t like these* wild horses, and your uncle is so reckless. 
He thinks because he can master them everybody else can.” 

“I think so too. Patience and tact generally win in the long- 
run, and I flatter myself I have a little of both,” replied the girl, 
gayly. “Besides, it won’t do to show the white feather. If I 
cannot conquer the slave, I can never hope to prevail against the 
master.” 

“Wliat’s that you’re talking about, Miss Psyche? You’ll find 
the squire a good handful if you mean to join issue with him. I 
shouldn’t like to warrant him quiet either to ride or drive,” said 
Captain Compton. 

4 4 1 mean to try, all the same, as soon as 1 am sure of my seat. A 
determined female takes a lot to kick her off— and uncle knows me 
of old.” 

“ You’re right there. Since I bent my back to the side-saddle, I 
daren’t call my soul my own. Oh, here’s Bessie; sha’n’t I catch it!” 
cried the captain in mock terror, as his wife entered the room. 

44 You deserve to, no doubt; but I’ll forgive you this time, not 


56 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


knowing what offence you have committed,’' said Mrs. Compton. 
“But I make this the condition, that you escort Psyche and me for 
a stroll in the park before supper. You'll come, won’t you, Psyche? 
It’s too fine to spend the whole evening in-dcors.” 

“I shall be delighted.” 

' “ And so shall I, ’’said the gallant captain. Then, as he followed 
the ladies out of the room, he remarked to Psyche, in a pathetic 
voice, “You see the truth of my assertion. She never trusts me 
out of her sight if she can help it. ‘ O solitude, where are thy 
charms?’ ” 

“ You can walk by yourself if you like. Captain Compton,” said 
Psyche, demurely. “ Bessie and I have plenty to talk about.” 

“ Of course you side with your own sex, and wilfully misunder- 
stand me. By solitude I meant permission to accompany you 
alone. But there, it’s no use crying after the moon. I’ve bartered 
away my liberty, and must support my chains as best I may,” he 
replied, laughingly, drawing his wife’s arm through his ow n, and 
leading the w T ay into the garden. 


CHAPTER X. 

“Hi ! Yoicks! Tally-ho ! And away we go, 

Across the fields we fly ; 

Into hedge and ditch we sometimes pitch, 

But we don’t care there to lie .” — Hunting Song. 

The next morning, a short hour after sunrise, the Danverfield 
pack was assembled in a paddock adjoining the kennels. Fifteen 
couple of wiry, intelligent-looking hounds, under the charge of old 
Philip the whip, anxiously awaited the arrival of their master and 
the commencement of the sport which they knew T instinctively was 
in store for them. Nor had they long to w T ait. A clattering of 
hoofs was heard on the drive, and the squire, accompanied by 
Psyche, Captain Compton, and Charlie, entered the field. 

‘ ‘ Ware horse ; quiet, Bachelor. Stop your noisy yelping, ” shouted 
the master, forcing his horse through the surging mass that came 
clustering round him with joyful signs of recognition. “There, 
Miss Psyche, isn’t that a sight to make your heart glad? There’s 
not a better pack in the country.” 

“They are beauties!” cried the girl with enthusiasm. “ Isn’t that 
old Tomboy? I believe he knows me after all these years.” 

“Quite right, my girl ; I’m glad you haven’t lost your eye for 
hounds. Do you remember that rare old bitch, Diana? We’ve had 
several litters from her. That’s one of her puppies — that spry -look- 
ing hound with a black patch on his back. Here, Philip, bring 
Acteon for Miss Danvers to see.” 

“ Good-morning, Philip. How are you? Quite well? You see, 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 57 

I’m coming out with you again,” said Psyche, as the old man ap- 
proached. * 

“ Right glad to see yer, miss; seems like old times when you and 
Master Yere — ” Terrified at the slip of which he had been guilty, 
in the excitement of the meeting, the old man stopped short, expect- 
ing a torrent of abuse from his master as the very lightest punish- 
ment for his forgetfulness. But either the squire did not hear, or, 
hearing, did not heed the infraction of his stern ordinance. At any 
rate, he merely remarked in a gruff tone, as he tightened his girths, 
“Stop your chattering, you old fool, and get the gate open. We 
sha’n't have a yard of scent by the time we get to work if we don’t 
make a start. We’ll draw the Moor Farm first.” 

Psyche noted this occurrence as of good omen for the object she 
had at heart. It was something gained to know that her uncle 
could now hear his absent son’s name mentioned without flying into 
a rage, and she determined to follow up her advantage at the first 
opportunity. 

‘ ‘ Do you expect many at the meet this morning, uncle?” she asked, 
as they jogged along side by side, following Philip and the hounds 
down a grass lane towards the outlying farm, where they were going 
to commence operations. 

“ No; I doubt it. I only settled to take the hounds out late last 
night, so I couldn’t let many of ’em know. I sent word to old 
Jeykes, and he’ll probably pass it on to two or three. But you see, 
my dear, the harvest isn’t quite all up, so I haven’t begun regular 
hunting yet.” 

“ I believe you had them out on purpose for me? It’s very kind 
of you, uncle, dear.” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps I did, and perhaps I didn’t. Don’t jmu worry your little 
head about ‘ reasons why,’ but just enjoy yourself if you can.” 

“ If I can? I should like to know how I can help it. A morn- 
ing’s sport in view; a good horse under me, and — you won’t be an- 
gry, dear — a feeling that my dear uucle Hugh has got over his fit of 
unjust anger, and means to be a nice, kind uucle and —father — again !” 
she replied, looking boldly up at him with a meaning smile. 

“Confound you women; you never can let well alone,” growled 
the squire. “We’ve come out for hunting, and not for preaching.” 

“ I didn’t mean to preach, and if it seemed like it, I’m sorry. But 
if you call leaving things as they are ‘ leaving well alone,’ I’d better 
tell you at once that I don’t agree with you, and what’s more, I 
don’t mean to,” replied Psyche, with spirit. This was a bold stroke, 
but the girl felt that, if she once allowed her uncle’s tyrannical nat- 
ure to assert itself over her, her influence would be lost. She knew 
her adversary thoroughly, and gauging with tolerable accuracy the 
advantages o*f her position, determined to carry the assault boldly 
into the" heart of the enemy’s country before he had time to decide 
on his line of defence. 

“ You know, uncle, I came here because you asked me,” she con- 
tinued, assuming an injured tone, without waiting for his reply. 
“ And you knew when you invited me that I had not altered my 


58 


IF LOTE BE LOVE. 


opinions, and am not given to conceal them, so that you have no- 
body to blame but yourself.” 

“Bless the girl! Who said anybody was to blame? I only asked 
you not to talk about— those things when we’ve come out for a day’s 
pleasuring,” said the old man, half apologetically. 

“Fond as I am of hunting, it would give me more pleasure to 
hear you say one kind word of Yere than if you offered to take me 
out ever) day of my life. Oh, Uncle Hugh, do forget this miserable 
quarrel, and let us all be happy again? You are breaking your wife’s 
heart and your own, and all for the sake o/ a little paltry pride and 
temper!” As Psyche spoke in an earnest tone of mingled entreaty 
and command, she fixed her tearful eyes full on her uncle’s face. 
It was a critical moment. He was within an ace of breaking out 
into one of his furious passions; but something in her look restrained 
him. The consciousness that she spoke the truth ; the remembrance 
of her constancy and devotion to a cause that was not in any sense 
her own— the very boldness with which she affronted his wrath — 
exercised a softening influence, and when, after a few moments’ 
silence, he spoke, his voice was low and almost tender. 

“ There, child, you’re a good girl, and mean well We’ll talk 
about it one of these days, but not now; I don’t feel up to it;” and 
the old man pushed his horse forward, scattering the hounds right 
and left, to join the whip at the head of the pack. 

Uttering a mental “Io triumpho!” Pysche reined her mare and 
waited for her brother and the captain, who had dropped somewhat 
behind, to join her. Relieved of the anxiety of the impending con- 
flict (for when she rose that morning she had fully made up her 
mind not to let the day pass without an effort on Vere’s behalf), 
Psyche was able to look around and enter into the full enjoyment 
of the situation and scene. 

If Yere could only be beside her now! If she could only share 
her feelings of happiness with him, and read in his eyes the grati- 
tude to which she felt she was entitled, and which his generous nat- 
ure would be the first to acknowledge! As she mused thus her 
cheeks flushed with delight, and her heart beat faster. But, like 
most keen mental ecstasies, the mere act of reducing them into a 
tangible form caused their instant dissolution. The thought of 
Vere’s bodily presence recalled his changed condition. Grateful he 
might be, but nothing more. For a moment, the morning mist seem- 
ed to gather in her eyes, blotting out the bright sunshine and damp- 
ing the happiness which had pervaded her whole being. But only 
for a moment. The strength of her nature soon reasserted itself, 
and the longings, half reproachful, half jealous, w T ere torn out and 
thrust aside as unworthy of true friendship, and she turned to greet 
her advancing companions with a pleasant smile and unruffled com- 
posure. 

“ I declare you’re a second Una and the lion,” exclaimed Captain 
Compton. “What is the secret of the subtle sorcery you exercise 
over your uncle? The family ought to combine to buy it of you— 
for use when you are gone.” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


59 


“I suppose it is that I am not afraid of him,” laughed the girl. 
“ Then, you know, we are old friends; Uncle Hugh was always very 
fond of me.” 

“I don’t wonder at that. But he’s fond of his wife and family, 
or ought to be, and yet he treats them like slaves.” 

“Well, you see, it’s not quite the same thing. He hasn’t any 
actual authority over me.” 

“Nor has he over me, but he treats me as though he had; and 
lie’s such a masterful old tyrant that I don’t much fancy raising the 
question.” 

“Don’t you remember, on one or two occasions, when you tried 
to assert your dignity, how the old man was down upon you like a 
hammer on a nail?” joined in Charlie, with a mischievous chuckle. 

“ ‘ When sorrow sleepeth, wake it not!’ Charlie, my boy,” retorted 
the captain, good-humoredly. “I fancy we have both been occa- 
sionally tarred with the same brush, only jmu being constantly on 
the spot come in for more frequent applications.” 

“ Oh, I make no secret of my unhappy condition. Talk of the 
horrors of slavery, and the cruelties formerly practised by masters 
on their apprentices! They’re child’s play compared with what I 
have to put up with when the old boy is in a bad humor — as he gen- 
erally is,” cried the youth, pathetically. 

“ Wliat a pity it seems that such a clever and nice man as Uncle 
Hugh naturally is, should have been allowed to degenerate into a 
cross-grained old tyrant,” said Psyche, “and all for the want of a 
little judicious management,” 

“ It’s the old story of ‘ belling the cat.’ Nobody fancied the job, 
and small blame to them,” replied the captain, stroking his mustache. 
“I’d rather face a charge of cavalry than your uncle when he’s 
roused.” 

“Aunt Mary might have done it if she had begun soon enough; 
I would in her place. He wasn’t always like this, and though a 
woman owes obedience to her husband, she ought not to give up all 
attempts at guiding and controlling him.” 

“Not many wives do; it’s generally the other way.” 

“Now, Captain Compton, you know that you have no cause to 
complain. I am sure Bessie is a model of docility.” 

“And so am I. It’s the baby who tyrannizes over our establish- 
ment.” 

“You must take care that he doesn’t grow up like his grand- 
father; it will be your own fault if he does,” said the girl, mer- 
rily. 

“Oh, there’s not much fear of that. The next new arrival will 
effectually put his nose out of joint ; such is the inconstancy of 
mothers. And if that fails, why I shall send him to his cousin 
Psyche, the renowned man - tamer,” laughed the captain. “I de- 
clare, if I were young and single. I’d feign a violent disposition for 
the chance of being ‘ broke’ by you.” 

During this conversation the little cavalcade had been jogging 
steadily along the winding lane, which, mounting gradually, led to- 


60 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


wards the moorland country. Here, at the extreme limit of the 
Danverlield estate, was the piace appointed for the meet. 

The hounds were halted in a field adjoining the farm-house, and, 
as they drew up to them. Psyche perceived half a dozen horsemen 
at the rendezvous, among whom she recognized old Jeykes — who 
farmed a property adjoining her uncle’s — and one or two other regu- 
lar pursuers of the same class. 

After the usual interchange of civilities the squire moved on with 
his hounds and threw off in a large, old fallow, which, lying high 
and dry and sheltered from the bleak north by a range of hills, was 
a favorite resort of hares. At the word of command, forward dashed 
the little pack, spreading out as they advanced among the tufts and 
knolls of long feathery grass in eager search for their close-lying 
quarry. Presently a hound opened. Farmer Jeykes cocked his ear 
and listened a moment. “ That’s old Tomboy, for a sovereign, and 
lie’s never at fault,” he remarked to Psyche, with a grim smile. 
“You come along o’ me, miss. She’s sure to cross the brook at the 
bottom, and I’ll show you where you can get over without jump- 
ing.” 

Tomboy spoke again, this time with more assurance; the rest of 
the pack ran in, and, picking up the line, away they streamed in full 
cry down the hill. ‘ ‘ For’ard on ! For’ard away !” shouted the 
squire, blowing his horn as he galloped after the hounds, followed 
by Philip, Charlie, and all those who meant facing the brook. 

Old Jeykes w T heeled off at right angles, beckoning to Psyche as he 
went. But she, laughingly, shook her head and followed the others. 
“I’d rather keep with the hounds,” she cried, “and Norali’s very 
good at water.” 

Onward swept the pack, led by old Tomboy, at a pace that made 
some of the youngsters tail off. Two or three fences had to be ne- 
gotiated before they reached the valley, and then a line of pollarded 
willows and a gleam and a splash of water as the hounds scrambled 
in and out on the opposite bank, betokened a more formidable ob- 
stacle. 

Charlie, on Peacock, was the first to reach it and clear it in fine 
style, with several feet to spare. Racing him, neck and neck, rode 
Captain Compton ; but, owing to his short sight, he had not picked 
a good place, and, though he got over, his horse dropped his hind-legs 
in, and nothing but the pace saved him from a nasty fall. The squire 
and Philip, who knew every inch of the country, jumped it a little 
to the left, where the narrowing banks reduced the width, and Psyche 
followed their lead. Then a quick fifteen minutes over the grass 
meadows and the hounds threw up beside a hairy ditch. During 
the check, Psyche, after caressing her favorite’s reeking neck, looked 
round, and found that the small array of pursuers was reduced by 
two— old Jeykes, who had not recovered the ground he had lost by 
his ‘skirting,’ and one of the young farmers, who had come to grief 
at the brook. 

“ What do you think of Peacock?” asked Charlie, drawing up to 
her side. “Did you see him take the brook?” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


61 


“I think he’s a beauty, and nearly as vain as his rider,” Psyche 
replied, laughingly. 

“ That’s right, Miss Psyche. He wants taking down a peg,” said 
Captain Compton, fanning his face with his hat. “By Jove, how 
hot it is!” 

‘ ‘ I say, old chap, talk of taking me down, I thought you’d want 
taking up out of the brook. Perhaps you rode for a fall, thinking 
it would cool you,” replied Charlie, between whom and the captain 
a certain friendly rivalry existed. 

“Listen! They’ve hit it off again.” And, sure enough, young 
Acteon, who inherited his mother’s keen nose, was giving tongue in 
a jubilant treble. Tomboy and the rest of the older hounds looked 
up distrustingly, and seemed to treat the puppy’s announcement with 
the disdain which is generally accorded to a tyro in most professions 
by his seniors. But the squire, being unprejudiced in this case, as 
an impartial observer, thought differently, and lifting his hounds on 
to the line indicated by the youngster, was rewarded for his confi- 
dence in youthful talent by a glad burst of music and another eager 
rush of the busy pack. Puss had skirted the ditch for a short dis- 
tance and then doubled back in a wide loop towards her starting- 
point. However, before she reached the brook she was headed by 
old Jeykes, and, turning once more towards the open country with 
the hounds close on her scent, was bowled over in the open after a 
good thirty-five minutes from find to finish. 

During the celebration of her funeral obsequies the field was aug- 
mented by several new arrivals from the neighborhood, who, hearing 
that the hounds were out, had hastily ** booted and saddled,” and sal- 
lied forth to join in the sport. Among these was a young officer of 
Captain Compton’s regiment, who was staying with some friends not 
far from Danverfield. Lieutenant Holdsworth was a good-looking 
young fellow of six or seven-and-twenty. The spic and spanness of 
liis attire, from his carefully waxed mustache to his lustrous New- 
market boots, betokened that he was not unaware of his personal at- 
tractions ; and, as he rode leisurely up to greet his companion-in- 
arms, Psyche mentally branded him as a fop — a class which she 
held in the supremest contempt. She was therefore not best pleased 
when, after duly presenting his friend to the master, Compton, in 
evident compliance with the young man’s request, introduced him 
to her. However, after a little conversation, she saw fit to modify 
her adverse opinion. There was a genial ring about young Holds- 
worth’s voice, and an easy courtesy in his manner, which proved 
that, however much he valued himself, he was not without the pow- 
er of appreciating others. 

“ I hope we shall have another run, don’t you, Miss Danvers? It 
made my blood boil to see you galloping hard below as we came 
over the hill; and, unless my eyes deceived me, you were leading the 
field during the latter part of the run.” 

“ One oughtn’t to lag far behind on a horse like this, ” replied Psy- 
che, glancing proudly down on her favorite. 

“Perhaps not. But, after all, it’s the rider who makes the horse; 


62 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


and ladies, when they go at all, generally go well. Don’t you think 

so?” 

“ That’s hardly a fair question. If I say yes, you’ll probably set 
me down as vain and self-satisfied, and if I reply in the negative, 
you'll think I’m fishing for a compliment. ’ 

“No such thing, I assure you. I meant what I said. Although 
l am a great admirer of the sex, I don’t go in for paying compli- 
ments unless they are deserved.” 

“ That’s very kind of you,” said the girl, with a saucy smile. 

‘ ‘ How kind ? It’s the honest truth. 1 wasn’t joking,” he rejoined, 
slightly piqued by her manner. 

“Surely you must know? First of all. as one of the ‘lords of 
creation.’ to admire us at all; and, secondly, to spare us that ‘cen- 
sure in disguise’ of which the copy-books tell us.” 

“ What a queer girl; and deuced sharp, too, for a country miss!” 
mused the young officer, who was accustomed to be petted and made 
much of by the ladies of his acquaintance. Then turning to his com- 
panion, “ Do you go in for woman’s rights and the equality of the 
sexes, Miss Danvers?” 

“ Do I look like it?” 

“ No, you don’t, certainly,” he replied, taking the opportunity for 
a good look at the pretty face and graceful figure of his companion. 

“Then why do you ask?” said Psyche, determined not to give 
way to this spoiled darling. 

“ Well, don’t you know, I judged from your way of speaking that 
you — sort of look down upon us men. You know what 1 mean.” 

“You give me credit for an immense amount of perspicacity,” 
laughed Psyche, secretly delighted at his confusion. “And even if 
I did mean what you mean, I should hardly venture to express my 
opinions before so doughty a champion of the other side.” 

“ Now, you know you’re chaffing me.” 

“How can you think so! But while we’re chattering here the 
hounds are drawing ahead, and if they find and go away, we shall 
be out of it.” So saying, she gathered up her reins, and cantered off 
after the retreating pack. 

“Not much more out of it than I am now,” thought the young 
man, as he prepared to follow. “ That girl’s a regular puzzle; but, 
all the same, she’s not bad fun!” 

x\notlier hare was found, and afforded them a good gallop, which, 
however, had a bloodless termination. As the morning advanced 
the sun’s increasing power favored Miss Puss’s dodges, and she man- 
aged to run out of scent. 

During the burst, which was sharp, and over a very stiff line of 
country, young Holdsworth kept Miss Psyche pretty well in view. 
At first he did his utmost to cut her down, hoping to witch her with 
a display of noble horsemanship. But the girl, too, was on her met- 
tle, and determined to show the self-complacent gallant that she could 
ride as well as talk. Well mounted as he w r as, her lighter weight 
told in her favor, and he had to content himself with keeping in 
close attendance on her, so that the distant back-view^ of his manly 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


63 


person, with which he had hoped to spite her, was reserved for old 
Jeykes and others of the “slow and sure” contingent. 

The lieutenant’s homeward road lay past Danverfield; and when 
the master blew the hounds off, shortly before noon, the young man 
jogged along with them, and took the opportunity of renewing his 
conversation with his new “puzzle.” 

Arrived at the kennels, the squire, who was pleased with his morn- 
ing’s sport, and felt unusually well-disposed towards his surround- 
ings, beckoned to his niece. 

“ You can ask your young spark to stop and take a bit of dinner 
with us if you like, my girl — if he’s not too big a swell to eat in the 
middle of the day. ” 

“ You had better ask him yourself if you want him, uncle; the 
invitation wouldn’t come well from me,” replied Psyche, smiling at 
her uncle’s ignorance of the proprieties. 

“The devil it wouldn’t! If he’d rather stay for an old man’s ask- 
ing than a pretty girl’s, he’s even a bigger fool than he looks,” growled 
the squire, who always felt a kind of ferocious bashfulness in the 
presence of strangers. 

“Here, Compton, ask your friend, lieutenant what’s his name, to 
stay and dine; perhaps he’ll liven you up a bit; at any rate, he’ll do 
to amuse the women folk. We can take his nag in for him, and he 
needn’t trouble about changing. I shall sit down as I am; and by 
gad! he looks as though he was got up already for having his por- 
trait painted!” 

This invitation, transmitted in a more complimentary form, was 
gladly accepted by young Holdswmrth. Strange to say, notwith- 
standing the somewhat cavalier treatment he had received at Psyche’s 
hands, or, more correctly speaking, from her tongue, he was keenly 
desirous of becoming more intimately acquainted with the squire’s 
charming niece. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ Since first I saw your face I resolved 
To honor and renown you ; 

If now I be disdained, I wish 

My heart had never known you.” — Madrigal. 

“May I come in, uncle?’’ asked Psyche, opening the door of the 
squire's business-room, and taking the permission for granted. 

The old gentleman was seated at his table, with a mass of books 
and papers before him. Notwithstanding his advanced age, he per- 
sisted in keeping the entire financial management of the estate in his 
own hands, even to paying his laborers’ wages himself. Although 
he could be liberal, and even generous in large affairs and ou spe- 
cial occasions, he was careful to niggardliness in the smaller items 
of every-day expenditure. Not a fraction of a penny beyond what 
was justly due could any of his employes hope for or obtain; and 


64 


IF LOVE HE LOVE. 


yet, in cases of genuine distress or illness, assistance was always un- 
grudgingly afforded. It was characteristic of the man to haggle 
over a sixpence in a bargain, and yet bestow fifty or a hundred 
pounds on a deserving charity without thinking twice about it. 

As his niece entered the room Mr. Danvers looked up from his 
work, surprised. For any one to appear in his sanctum unbidden 
was an event almost unprecedented. Yet when he saw who it was, 
he relaxed the frown with which he was prepared to greet the in- 
truder. 

“ What a spirit the girl has,” he thought, with an inward chuckle 
of enjoyment at the unconcerned manner in which she seated her- 
self and calmly awaited his pleasure. 

“Well, miss, and what the deuce do you mean by walking into 
my private room, interrupting my business like this?” he asked, in a 
tone of assumed anger. 

“How else would you have me come, dear? I couldn’t fty or 
crawl. I wanted to talk to you alone, and it’s a good opportunity, 
as the others are all out shooting or driving; but, if you’re busy, I’ll 
come back again presently,” replied Pysclie, moving towards the 
door. 

“ Stay; don’t be in such a confounded hurry. What do you want 
to talk about?” 

“ Can’t you guess? I want to renew our conversation of yester- 
day where we left off.” 

“ I thought I declined to discuss the subject.” 

“Perhaps you did, but you didn’t mean it, I’m sure. You only 
said ‘for the present ’ — don’t you remember? It’s no use frowning, 
dear; you’ve got to promise to be friends with Vere again, or else 
to be enemies with me; and in that case it wasn’t worth the trouble 
of bringing me here. Uncle, dear, don’t think I’m not in earnest. 
It would break my heart to part with you in anger again after hav- 
ing my hopes raised — if you only knew how Vere longs for a recon- 
ciliation!” 

“Why doesn’t he say so, then?” asked the old man, more affected 
by the girl’s earnest appeal than he chose to show. 

“ How can he, dear, when you drove him away like a dog? It 
would be cowardly for him to come craving for pardon when he 
has committed no offence.” 

“ No offence? And pray what do you call his open disregard of 
my wishes?” 

“ It’s no worse than mine, and yet you forgave me — and I’m not 
your daughter.” 

“ I wish you were,” said the squire, stroking her hair as she knelt 
at his feet; “you’re the best girl I ever knew— for all your sauciness.” 

“ Then you do forgive him? You’ll let me write and tell him so? 
Oh, Uncle Hugh, you dear old darling, I’m so glad!” and the girl 
flung herself into his arms, weeping for very joy. 

Mr. Danvers’s face was a study during this episode. A fierce 
struggle was evidently raging within him between the affection he 
bore his niece and the absent one whose cause she championed — and 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


65 


liis ingrained obstinacy and pride. Surprise, hesitancy, impatience, 
turn by turn, gained the upperhand, to be succeeded and overcome 
by shame-faced tenderness and a rekindling of better feelings. 

Taking her head between his wrinkled hands, he gently raised it 
to a level with his own. “ I suppose you must have your own way,” 
he said, in a voice husky with emotion. ‘ ‘ I forgive him ; but on one 
condition.” 

' ‘ Name it. I agree on his behalf beforehand, ” cried Psyche, look- 
ing up with sparkling eyes. 

“Gently! gently! You women always rush your fences. Now, 
tell me honestly, and without prevarication, Why have you stuck 
up for this graceless boy through thick and thin, when even his own 
mother and sisters forsook him?” 

The girl flushed crimson under her uncle’s searching glance. ‘ ‘ Be- 
cause I love him; because he’s a dear, good, noble fellow; because — 
but why do you ask? Isn’t it natural that I should love my cousin 
— my old friend and playmate?” 

The squire hesitated a moment ; then, in a tone of unwonted ten- 
derness, ‘ ‘ Forgive me, my dear, if I’m wrong. Cousinly affection 
and friendly regard are all very well in their way ; but are you quite 
sure that is all? They don’t seem to me to account for your be- 
havior.” 

“What more do you want, you arch inquisitor?” asked Psyche, 
burying her face in his shoulder to hide her confusion at this unex- 
pected thrust. “When was a woman ever able to explain her mo- 
tives? You can call it obstinacy if you like. I’m as obstinate as a 
donkey; more so even than you.” 

“That won’t do, Miss Pert. Yoffrenot carrying out your com- 
pact. Look here, my girl! let us understand one another clearly. 
There’s nothing in this world would please me better than to have 
you for my daughter. I’ve often thought about it, but didn’t believe 
that young scrapegrace worthy of you; but if he’s good enough for 
you, I suppose you’ll say that’s not my affair. Y on shall be the boy’s 
peace-offering; Yere shall marry you, and, as in the story-books, we’ll 
live happily together ever afterwards.” 

“ Oh, Uncle Hugh, don’t!” she cried, in a voice in which she vain- 
ly strove to smother' the pain and regret. “He doesn’t love me— 
like that.” 

‘ ‘ By gad ! then he shall, or he shall never darken my doors again ! 
Not love you? Pooh! the ungrateful dog,” exclaimed Mr. Danvers, 
waxing furious at the idea of opposition to his scheme. “Listen, 
child ! My mind is made up. He comes back to be your husband 
or not at all.” 

“ But, if I won’t have him?” 

“Nonsense! I know you better than you know yourself. You 
love the boy. Don’t talk to me of cousinly love and friendship. 
Fudge and fiddle-sticks! Do you think I don’t know the real thing 
when I see it?” 

Psyche was growing desperate. To have this impossible happi- 
ness dangled before her eyes; to feel that the success of all her pain- 

5 


66 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


ful efforts depended on her power of giving the lie to an assertion 
to which every fibre of her heart throbbed assent, was almost more 
than she could bear. With a violent effort, she summoned courage 
to reply firmly, 

“You are mistaken, dear. Yere can never be more to me than 
he is — than — my favorite cousin. And now,” she continued, with 
an assumption of playfulness, ‘ ‘ I’ll run away and leave you to your 
work. We can talk it over again another time. Meanwhile I shall 
write off at once to tell him the good news.” 

“ As you like; but I don’t half believe you,” growled the old man, 
in a disappointed tone, as she kissed him tenderly and slipped out of 
the room. 

In the solitude of her own apartment Psyche mused with mingled 
feelings over her late encounter. Victory remained with her thus 
far, but she feared that the news of Yere’s marriage might undo all 
that she had striven so hard to attain. And yet, as she herself had 
said, sooner or later it must be broken to Mr. Danvers. That upon 
her would ultimately devolve the painful task she felt no manner of 
doubt, and was inclined to reproach herself for not having taken 
advantage of her uncle’s softened mood to make the avowal then. 

On the other hand, she sought consolation in the reflection that a 
reconciliation once effected, the old man might view his son’s position 
in a more friendly light than if it were thrust upon him while he was 
still wavering between outraged dignity and parental affection. In 
the excitement of the discussion, her uncle had omitted to ask, and 
she to volunteer, any information as to Yere’s present habitation and 
mode of life. “ I suppose that will come later,” she thought; “ and 
then it will be time enough to tell him about Carmen. The main 
point was to get him to promise to be friends again, and I ought to 
be thankful that I have been successful so far.” 

Thankful, no doubt she was, for Yere’s sake; but for herself she 
felt his return would be a reopening of her secret sorrow, a period 
of trial for her self-command and fortitude. Absent, she could think 
of him impersonally as the man to whom her whole heart was giv- 
en ; she could even satisfy her secret devotion by working on his be- 
half, by writing to him and receiving his confidences in return. 
There was no fear in such intercourse as theirs had been during the 
past few years of her betraying the real nature of the friendship 
which she professed. Her love was strong, tender, passionless — 
partaking of the adoration of a devotee for the god at whose shrine 
she worships, rather than of the warmer and more human affection 
of woman for man. In its present stage it called forth no blush to 
her cheek, no feelings of shame and self-reproach, no twinges of con- 
science that in loving him she was injuring his wife. 

But his actual presence would revolutionize all this. To see him, 
to speak with him once more, to live, perhaps, under the same roof, 
to receive his grateful acknowledgment of her services, feeling all 
the while that she must keep the door of her lips and measure every 
word and glance lest her secret should peep out — that was a pros- 
pect which filled her with dismay and anxiety. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


67 


Young as she was, and inexperienced in the ways of the world, 
she felt that what was harmless and innocent in the abstract might 
be most improper in the concrete. And the question which arose 
in her troubled mind was, Could she school herself into regarding 
the actual Vere as being of different identity with the Vere of her 
secret worship? Unlike the heroines of a certain school of novel 
ists (we don’t profess to say whether or no they exist in real life). 
Psyche was not addicted either to much intro — or retro — spection. 
Her vivacious temperament, her keen zest for the pleasures life holds 
in store for those who have youth and strength to enjoy them, and 
a certain incisiveness of judgment founded on healthy and com 
mon-sense views of her vocation, prevented her from indulging in 
any fnorbid forebodings as to the possible results of any given 
course of action, or in useless repinings when the possible had be- 
come actual. She was anything but intense, in the aesthetic mean 
ing of the word, although equally far removed from being super- 
ficial. But here was a case which had not been “dreamed of m her 
philosophy,” and one in which she could seek for neither counsel 
nor assistance save from her own heart — a poor resource under the 
circumstances, as she herself, knowing its bias, candidly owned. 
Her love for Vere, slow and imperceptible as had been its growth, 
had become so much a part of herself, that she felt to pluck it out 
was a sheer impossibility As an alternative there remained the de- 
termination to conceal it, to hedge it carefully round with an impen- 
etrable barrier of duty and friendship, and this she resolved to do. 

Having decided this knotty point. Psyche sat herself down and 
indited a long epistle to her cousin. In giving him full details of 
her interview with his father, she naturally omitted those which re- 
lated to herself personally, and which had just given her so much 
food for reflection. “Mind you write at once,” she said, in conclu- 
sion, “to say how glad you are to receive his forgiveness. Tell 
him that you only await his permission to come over and pay him 
a visit; and meanwhile 1 will take an opportunity of letting him 
know how you are situated. I find that Aunt Mary thought it bet- 
ter not to avail herself of your permission to inform him of your 
marriage at the time, and I must not conceal from you my dread 
that he may find in it some fresh cause for offence. But that is all 
the more reason that you should write to him in a conciliatory spir 
it, by return of post, and I will do all in my power to smooth away 
difficulties.” 

This letter she despatched before descending to dinner, fearing 
lest her uncle might see fit to withdraw his permission. The wis- 
dom of this step was amply demonstrated, when, in answer to the 
summons of the dinner • bell, she hurried down stairs to join the 
family in the dining-room. As she crossed the hall the squire ap- 
peared at the door of his study. 

“If you haven’t written yet, leave it for a day or two,” he said, 
moodily. “ I want a little more time to think it over.” 

“But I have, dear, and sent the letter to the post. Surely you 
don’t wish to retract your promise?” 


68 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“No; but, I don’t like being hurried. Well, look ye here, child, 
don’t breathe a word of this to your aunt or any of them till he re- 
plies. We don’t know how he’ll take it, and it’s no use humiliating- 
myself before them ” (with a contemptuous jerk in the direction of 
the dining-room) “for nothing.” 

“I’ll answer for Vere,” cried the 'girl, taking his hand; “but, 
meanwhile, I’ll do as you wish.” 

“That’s a good girl. You’ve got more sense than all the rest put 
together. ” 

Young Holdsworth was again of the party. He had been shoot- 
ing with Captain Compton and Charlie, and had not required much 
persuasion to induce him to stay, with the chance of seeing Miss> 
Psyche once more. He was decidedly fascinated by her charms,, 
and although thus far his intentions consisted of nothing more defi- 
nite than a desire to while away his spare time in a mild flirtation, 
his condition of mind was such that a very slight encouragement 
might lead to more serious results. 

Unfortunately for him, he misconstrued Psyche’s abstracted de- 
meanor, and her evident condition of suppressed excitement, as 
symptomatic of a growing attraction towards himself. And when, 
after dinner, the young people adjourned to the garden, and the 
girl, feeling that she had treated their visitor’s efforts to entertain 
her rather coldly, endeavored to compensate him by a little extra 
attention, the kindliness of her manner helped to foster the delu- 
sion, and forged another link in the chain which he was only too 
ready to assume. 

As a matter of fact, Psyche was so little of a coquette, and so 
much accustomed to male society, that, finding the youth compan- 
ionable and amusing, she readily assumed with him a tone of friend- 
ly intimacy, which seemed to him to promise something warmer 
than was really meant. From her long attachment to Vere, she had 
come to regard herself almost as an affianced bride, and was quite 
free from the conventional bashfulness of the unappropriated virgin 
in presence of a possible suitor. 

In the course of conversation a question had arisen with regard 
to an historical event, dating from the time of the first Napoleon, 
on which Psyche was alone able to furnish accurate information. 

“I can’t understand what it is that makes you so different from 
other girls,” remarked young Holdsworth, who had successfully 
manoeuvred to secure a tete-a-tete with her when, the discussion over, 
the little party dispersed in different directions. 

“Do you suppose that we are all cast in the same mould, and 
turned out by the gross like china dolls?” asked Psyche, amused at 
his earnest wonderment. 

‘ ‘ 1 don’t mean in personal appearance, though you have the pull 
there too. But, don’t you know, clever women, as a rule, are such 
bores, and, when they’re strong - minded into the bargain, they’re 
simply abominable, to my mind.” 

“Perhaps that’s the fault of your mind, and not altogether 
theirs. But what am I to infer from this ferocious onslaught on 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


69 


my sex? You surely don’t mean to include me in the obnoxious 
category?” 

“ Yes, I do, so far as the cleverness and strength of will.” 

“ I’m glad to hear you don’t consider me quite a fool.” 

“ As if I could! it’s more likely the other way.” 

“What? You regard me as an abominable bore? Thanks, very 
much.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t chaff a fellow like that, when he tries to 
talk seriously.” 

“Oh yes, I know, you intend to pay me a pretty compliment, 
but I don’t like compliments. It always seems to me a man must 
hold a very low opinion of a woman’s intelligence when he consid- 
ers it necessary to interlard his conversation with flattery more or 
less insincere.” 

“But mine was not insincere, nor did I intend to flatter you; I 
like you too well for that, ’’said the lieutenant, in a tone of frank 
friendliness that quite disarmed her suspicion that he was trying to 
amuse himself at her expense. 

“Then I apologize,” replied Psyche, smiling pleasantly; “and 
to prove my contrition, I’ll do my best to enlighten you on the sub- 
ject of your doubt. Is it not due to the fact that, having been edu 
cated in France, and naturally knowing a little more of its history 
than the ordinary English school-girl, I should have ventured to as- 
sert my opinion before two such competent military critics as Cap- 
tain Compton and yourself?” 

“I think we had better not return to the subject, because, if I 
spoke the truth, you’d be sure to think I was trying tp flatter you; 
and I want to keep friends for my last day.” 

“Your last day? Are you leaving, then?” 

“Yes, I have to rejoin the regiment to-morrow; leave’s up, worse 
luck!” 

“I’m sorry for that. I think my uncle intends taking the hounds 
out again to-morrow, and looked forward to seeing you in the fore- 
front of the battle. ” 

“Thanks, awfully! I wish I could. I shall think of you when 
I’m back grinding on duty, and I hope you won’t forget me alto- 
gether,” said the young man, gloomily. 

“I never forget my friends; perhaps you’ll be able to return before 
the end of the season, and we may enjoy another good run together. ” 

“ I’ll see if it can’t be worked. I’ve never had such a jolly time,” 
he said, heartily; adding, in an undertone, “I wish you’d give me 
that flower.” 

“I declare we’re getting quite sentimental, but you shall have it 
if you like,” replied Psyche, with an amused smile. “I wonder 
how long your grief at parting will outlast my memento?” 

Young Holdsworth was about to reply, when Mrs. Compton and 
her children appeared and put an end to the conversation, or at 
least to its confidential tone. 

Three days later Mr. Danvers received a letter from Vere, and 
summoned Psyche into the study to hear its contents. 


*70 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“ It’s satisfactory enough as far as it goes,” said the old man, try- 
ing hard to conceal his delight. “ The young dog sees the error of 
his ways, though he’s too proud to say so, and he’s longing to see 
me again. There, my dear, read that. Silly boy, why didn’t he 
write before?” 

“ He’s like you, dear; and like me. I’m afraid we’re an obstinate 
lot.” 

“Well, I’m glad lie’s had the decency to make the first overture, 
though I don’t mind saying to you I’m heartily glad to be friends 
again. That boy had more in him than all the others.” 

‘ ‘ Y ou’ll have reason to be proud of him one of these days ; he’s 
rising in his profession most wonderfully I should not be a bit 
surprised if he gets a picture into the Academy next year. I know 
he intends to try, and he generally carries his purposes through.” 

“Determination is very well even in young people; but it may 
be carried too far,” said Mr. Danvers, sententiously. “Look what 
he’s lost by his stubbornness ; and what for ? To become a dauber 
of canvas — a poor devil whose very existence depends on the favor 
of picture-dealers and such cattle.” 

“It doubtless has its drawbacks; but the artist’s is a noble pro- 
fession, and his life a happy one,” cried Psyche, enthusiastically. 
“ Think of the delight of studying Nature in her most charming as- 
pects, not out of mere dilettanteism, but with a view to reproducing 
them for the gratification of thousands, and the attainment of one’s 
own undying fame.” 

“ All that jargon sounds very well. But you won’t persuade me 
that the boy is happier as he is than if he had had the sense to lead 
. the life for which he was intended.” 

“Well, dear, I won’t argue the point; I’ll leave that for Vere 
when he comes. By-the-bye, I don’t think I told you that he has 
another advocate to plead his cause— the cause of Art and Beauty,” 
she said, assuming a vivacity of manner which at the moment she 
was far from feeling. 

“ He doesn’t need any other advocate than you,” replied her un- 
cle, in a playful strain. “ You’re artful enough and comely enough 
for anything.” 

“ Wait till you’ve seen Carmen.” 

“ Carmen! Who the devil’s Carmen?” 

“ His wife, and my dearest friend,” faltered Psyche, anxiously 
noting the portents of a coming storm. Then, in the hope of 
averting the outbreak, she continued, with breathless eagerness, “-I 
thought you’d be surprised; but, you see, it was no use telling you 
till you had promised to be friends ,” laying great stress on these 
words. “ Of course, under other circumstances, he would have 
written to let you know and ask your advice; but you see, as it was, 
he felt so lonely and uncared for. No wonder he fell in love with 
Carmen; you should just see her— the prettiest girl 1 ever met, and 
so nice too. We were at school together. In fact I— I persuaded 
Yere to— to go over to her.” 

“Oh! so you persuaded him to go over to her, did you?” said Mr. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


11 


Danvers, white with passion. “Then you may just persuade him to 
remain where he is. I don’t want any foreign women, with their 
heathenish names and ways over here, I can tell you.” 

“But, Uncle Hugh, you haven’t seen her — you don’t know her.” 

“And, what’s more — I don’t mean to! Do you think I’ll allow a 
son of mine to disgrace the family name like that? Some pink- 
cheeked minx, I’ll be bound. And then to try and slink back like a 
whipped cur behind the shelter of her petticoats! Zounds, miss! 
do you take me for a fool?” 

“You’ve no right to speak of my friend in that way; nor, indeed, to 
address such language to me at all,” said Psyche, thoroughly roused. 

“Hold your tongue, miss, or I shall do you an injury. I’ve been 
the victim of the grossest deception, and I retract my forgiveness. 
The disobedient young puppy!” 

“ You can do as you like about that; but if you think that I shall 
remain in your house after your treatment of me, you are mistaken,” 
she replied, rising and ringing the bell. ‘ ‘ I suppose I may order the 
carriage to take me over to the station?” 

Mr. Danvers looked aghast. To be bearded in his own den like 
this was something altogether outside of his experience, and in the 
very novelty of the situation lay an element of comicality. 

‘ ‘ Come, come, my girl, I didn’t mean to be angry with you ; 
though, Heaven knows, I have the right to be for your share in this 
infamous transaction,” he said, in milder tones. 

“Be as angry as you like; you won’t think worse of me than I do 
of you,” she answered, coldly. “ You insult my friend, you allow 
me to make promises in your name which you decline to fulfil, you 
threaten me with personal violence when I try to justify myself, 
and then you kindly tell me you’re not angry with me.” 

Just then a servant answered the bell, and Psyche, turning to her 
uncle, asked him to give the necessary orders for her departure. 

Again the squire halted between the fear of losing his niece and 
the dread of sacrificing his dignity. 

‘ ‘ A plague seize the women and their fussing and fuming ! I know 
how to deal with a man, but d — n me if this girl isn’t a match for any 
two!” he growled under his breath. Then, turning on the unfortu- 
nate domestic, “ What the devil are you gaping in the doorway for? 
Get outside, and wait till you’re told to come in.” 

“ Am I to order the carriage myself?” repeated Psyche, in her ici- 
est tones, as the trembling maid withdrew. 

“ Certainly not. Now, look here, my dear, be reasonable. I tell 
you, I didn’t mean any offence. What more do you want? You 
don’t expect me to go down on my knees to crave for pardon?” 

It was Psyche's turn to appear to hesitate. For all her bold front 
and defiant attitude, she had no intention of leaving if she could 
possibly avoid it, because she knew perfectly well that without the 
influence of her continual presence Yere’s cause would be hopelessly 
lost. At the same time it was essential to the maintenance of that 
influence that she should assert her dignity, and prove that her un- 
cle’s wrath had no terrors for her. 


72 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“ I don’t expect you to do anything so ridiculous; but I do expect 
that a man calling himself a gentleman should behave as such to- 
wards a lady and a guest — even though she be his niece,” she re- 
plied, still on the defensive. 

“Yes, yes, no doubt I was wrong; but you know I am a little 
hasty in my temper, and it was enough to make a saint swear,” said 
the squire, apologetically. “ Come, give me a kiss, and make it up 
like a good child.” 

“You withdraw your offensive expressions about Yere and his 
wife? I tell you she’s a charming girl, and a perfect lady,” said 
Psyche, offering her cheek. 

Mr. Danvers made a horrible grimace. In his eagerness to make 
peace he had almost forgotten the original cause of his wrath, which 
these words called in evidence. “ I suppose I must take your word 
for it,” he said at last. “ But that does not make me any the more 
bound to receive her as my daughter-in-law. I never did like for- 
eigners, and I’m too old to begin to try. ” 

“Do, just to please me,” urged his niece, in her most coaxing 
tone. 

“I sha’n’t make any more rash promises with a little spitfire like 
you at my elbow to jump down my throat if I don’t carry them out 
to the letter.” 

“ But you allow that you promised to receive Yere again?” 

“ But not his wife — for the all-sufficient reason that I didn’t think 
he would have been such an idiot. Never mind, I’ll be as good as 
my word. Since you will have it, let him come; but aloue, mind, or 
else he may stop away altogether.” And with this decision, Psyche 
deemed it wise to appear contented for the present. 


CHAPTER XII. 

4 ‘ Friendship is constant, in all other things 
Save in the office and affairs of love.” — Shakespeare. 

The receipt of Psyche’s letter, containing the unlooked-for inti- 
mation of his father’s disposition to reopen friendly relations, had 
caused no small ferment in Ycre’s mind. 

Knowing the squire’s ineradicable prejudices, he fully shared his 
cousin’s fears as to the effect the announcement of his marriage 
might have on their prospects of a permanent reconciliation. And, 
with this dread, he hesitated to communicate the news to Carmen, 
lest it should give rise to hopes which might be disappointed; and 
leave her besides with the uncomfortable reflection that she had 
been a stumbling-block in the way of his restoration to paternal fa- 
vor. . Not that he thought this last consideration would weigh very 
heavily with her. He almost wished it might have been so that he 
could have felt assured that the partner of his cares and joys would 
be as ready to participate in the former as she was to monopolize 
the latter. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


73 

Unfortunately, his short experience of married life had forced hirp 
to the conclusion that, with all her charms of face and manner, his 
wife was entirely wanting in intellectual sympathy and steady pur- 
pose ; in fact, was little else but a pretty, wayward child. 

To a man of Yere’s stamp of mind this discovery was by no means 
a pleasant one. His knowledge of the opposite sex — based princi- 
pally upon his intimate acquaintance with his cousin Psyche — had 
led him to form a very lofty ideal of what a helpmate might and 
should be. And, although he gratefully acknowledged the wealth 
of affection which his beautiful bride was ever ready to lavish upon 
him, he missed the intelligent interest and helpfulness in the more 
serious concerns of life that should have made her a trusted friend 
as well as a loving companion. He could not help feeling that her 
pretty, inconsequent ways, her sudden fits of petulance, followed by 
remorseful and ardent protestations of extravagant affection— charm- 
ing as they were in the abstract, and from a lover’s point of view 
— might become monotonous after a lengthened experience. And 
yet, when he strove to take her to task, and hinted ever so gently 
that her conduct scarcely befitted her present state, she only stared 
with wide-open eyes, and either laughed at him for a cross old Blue- 
beard or reproached him with a torrent of tears for his lack of af- 
fection. 

“I see how it is — you don’t love me. You never loved me as I 
loved you,” she would cry. “I wish I were dead, or back at the 
Pension!” And then, of course, he had to take her in his arms and 
console her as best he might, and all the intended effect of the lect- 
ure was lost. 

Still, he never allowed himself either in thought or word to re 
proach her for the disappointment which he felt was due to his own 
unconsidered and impulsive action in engaging himself to a girl of 
whose character he knew so little. 

“Psyche has spoiled me for other women,” he used to say to him- 
self; “she led me to expect too much. Commonplaces don’t go 
down after masterpieces. ” 

And so he wisely made up his mind to bring down the level of his 
expectations, and accommodate himself to his wife as she was. True 
to this resolution, he was unvarying in his kindness and considera- 
tion, and sought in his work consolation for the disenchantment 
which a closer experience of connubial bliss had wrought. 

As a matter of fact, Carmen was not entirely to blame. Their 
natures were so widely divergent, that she could as little understand 
his motives and aims as he could hers. They were like two stran- 
gers, of different race and customs, trying to discourse, each in his 
own tongue, on a subject which presented itself in a totally different 
aspect to each. 

His natural reserve she misconstrued into indifference, his occa- 
sional fits of abstraction into studied neglect. And the very kindli- 
ness with which he encountered her gusts of temper gave rise to 
the suspicion that his love for her was cold, or, at best, lukewarm. 

Love indeed, in her conception, meant a perpetual state of fren- 


74 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


zied passion. Slie would have had him alternately adoring and rag- 
ing, now as the devoted lover, now as the masterful despot. She felt 
she could have even submitted to occasional cruelty oO long as she 
knew that his love was hers indeed, for the sake of the ecstasies of 
reconciliation. But a state of steady, sober, unvarying affection such 
as he offered her did not seem to her to be worthy of the name of 
love at all. 

In her distress at this imaginary discovery she longed for a sym- 
pathetic companion, to whom she could confide her doubts and 
fears, and, if possible, have them argued away. But, unfortunately, 
there was none such at hand. Her erst bosom friend, Psyche, was 
in England ; and although she hardly as yet dared confess it to 
herself, Carmen had begun to entertain feelings not far removed 
from jealousy for her husband’s warm ally and constant correspon- 
dent. Since their marriage she fancied that she had discovered a 
marked change in the tone of her old school-fellow’s letters, and a 
still more marked falling-off in their frequency. Formerly Carmen 
had been accustomed to lay bare her most secret thoughts to her 
“dear sister,” as she had elected to designate Psyche; and the latter, 
although perhaps not so effusive, had never failed to reply in a strain 
which satisfied the younger girl’s craving for sympathy and affec- 
tion. But now — well, Carmen was forced to allow that the first 
falling away had been on her side ; still, she felt that she no longer 
occupied the first place in her friend’s thoughts. When Psyche 
wrote to her at all, it was in her character as Yere’s wife that she 
addressed her, and all her questions, counsels, and suggestions proved 
that Carmen was subordinated in the writer’s mind, and her very 
identity merged in that of her husband. While, to add to the of- 
fence — particularly of late — Psyche’s communications to her often 
took the form of messages or enclosures in more lengthy and appar- 
ently important missives addressed to Yere. 

More than once the girl determined to open her heart to her hus- 
band, and bid him either dissipate her fears once for all, or confirm 
them, and let her know the full extent of her misery. But pride, 
dread of ridicule, and a certain zest of maiden modesty, restrained 
her. Thus the feelings of estrangement and incipient jealousy, al- 
though carefully concealed, were beginning to take root deep in her 
heart, and threatened to starve out and overlay the genuine affection 
which she entertained for the man of her choice. 

One morning at breakfast Carmen remarked that her husband — 
who had received a letter from England in Psyche’s well - known 
handwriting on the previous afternoon — seemed unusually silent 
and abstracted. Two or three times she surprised his glance fixed 
upon her in a meditative manner, as though he had something im- 
portant on his mind and was debating whether to give utterance to 
it or not. But still, he said nothing ; and at last the girl, irritated 
beyond endurance, broke out passionately, “ Vere, are you dumb 
to-day, that you sit staring at me like a mute? You have hardly 
spoken two words since you received that letter.” 

“ Haven’t I, dear? Well, to tell the truth, I’ve been thinking, and 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


I can’t think and talk at the same time,” he answered, good-temper- 
edly 

“ At any rate, you might share your thoughts with me. I don’t 
ask to be admitted into your secrets; that privilege seems to be re- 
served for your cousin, but I don’t like to be left quite in the dark 
by myself. ” 

“Poor child! Was she badly treated? Well, never mind; you 
shall know all by-and-by. ” 

“ But I want to know now, this instant,” cried Carmen, stamping 
her little foot with vexation at his apparent indifference to her wound- 
ed feelings. 

“ Seriously? Very well, then you shall help me to decide. I may 
have to go over to England shortly on important business, and I was 
wondering whether you would like to accompany me or not.” 

“ To England? At this time of year— in the season of fogs? It 
will be so cold and miserable. And then crossing the sea — ugh!” 
shuddered Carmen. 

“ That’s just what I thought. It’s getting a little late for a child 
of the sun like you to undertake so long a journey. And yet I don’t 
like to leave my poor little wife alone.” 

“Why must you go; why not wait till next summer? Then we 
can go together, and you shall show me all the sights of London, as 
you did of Paris,” said the girl, rising and placing her arm coaxing- 
ly round his necl^ and laying her cheek close to his. 

“It’s a matter of great importance, or I shouldn’t dream of it. I 
don’t know anything for certain yet ; but if I get the summons I ex- 
pect, I must go at once, or not at all.” 

“Let it be not at all. Stay with me, darling. What is business 
compared with love?” 

“ To love you must live ; to live you must have money; to get 
money, you must — or, rather, I must — attend to business,” didactically 
replied Vere, pressing a kiss on her expectant lips, and then gently 
disengaging himself from her embrace. “ There’s nothing definite- 
ly settled at present, but I thought you ought to be prepared.” 

“ I call it very cruel of you to think of leaving me all alone,” she 
cried, with a little pout, although her anger had melted before the 
tokens of his affectionate thought for her 

“ You sha’n’t be alone. If you decide not to accompany me — and 
perhaps it will be wiser to do so — we will invite one of the Demoi- 
selles Delaforet to keep you company, or you might spend a few 
days with them. In any case I shall not be long absent.” 

Carmen had had it on her tongue at the beginning of the conver- 
sation to ask him whether Psyche’s letter was the cause of this sud- 
den resolution. But her uneasy suspicions once at rest, she had no 
desire to pursue so distateful a theme, and the word business was as- 
sociated in her mind with everything unpleasant. 

At this moment too the current of her thoughts was changed by 
the arrival of an invitation to dinner from M. de Malsherbes. 

Yere read the note in silence, and tossed it across to his wife, ob- 
serving, “ Shall we refuse? I don’t care to go if you don’t.” 


*6 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


“But I do care to go very much. I am dying to see the interior 
of the chateau,” she cried, excitedly. “ Besides, it would seem so 
rude, being the first time we are asked.” 

“As you like,” replied Vere, indifferently. “ It’s an awful bore 
having to go out among strangers; but I don’t want to offend our 
neighbor, and if it pleases you, we will accept. I hope he’s not go- 
ing to overwhelm us with his civilities.” 

“That’s ungrateful, Yere. You know M. de Malsherbes told us 
that he never entertains now, and by making an exception in our 
favor he is treating us with especial honor. I thought you said you 
liked him the other day after he had called to see you?” 

“ I like him well enough, for the matter of that. He is agreeable, 
polite, and seems clever; but, at the same time, I have no great de- 
sire to cultivate too close an intimacy.” 

“You ought to be only too glad to have so distinguished a man 
for a friend,” cried Carmen. “ Think how it will add to your rep 
utation; and I’m sure he’s nice.” 

Vere thought it was useless to discuss the subject further, so mere- 
ly observed, “ Perhaps I am rather difficult in the matter of friends.' 
Anyhow, I shall require to know more of M. le Yicomte before I re- 
gard hjm as one. However, if you really wish it, we will accept his 
invitation. Remember, though, it will entail a return; and you and 
Louise will have all the trouble of elaborating a menu suitable to so 
exalted a visitor.” 

“ Oh, he’s very simple in his tastes; he told m^so himself. And 
then, Yere, Louise is a perfect treasure; she can cook anything,” she 
replied, with a proud assumption of housewifely knowledge. 

“ She ought to be good for something; she certainly doesn’t shine 
in personal beauty. Her face is sour enough to turn the Gream,” 
remarked Yere, dryly. He did not like the woman. There was 
something in her cat-like and stealthy movements, and in her habit 
of regarding him out of the corners of her eyes, which had a most 
irritating effect upon him. 

“ She’s certainly not lovely, nor amiable in appearance,” laughed 
Carmen; “but she’s a good servant, and Madame Bouchard says 
she has a sad history. Her husband was a brute, and used to beat 
her.” 

“I can almost sympathize with him,” began Yere, and then sud- 
denly checked himself as the subject of their conversation glided 
noiselessly into the room 

The approaching festivity at the chateau engrossed Carmen’s at- 
tention for the next day or two to the exclusion of all other topics, 
and she failed to revert even casually to Vere’s possible departure. 
And this, although it was scarcely .flattering to his self-love, was a 
subject of inward congratulation to her husband, as, pending a reply 
to the letter he had addressed to his father, he was scarcely in a po- 
sition to decide on any definite course of action. 

On the appointed evening the young couple arrived at the dilapi- 
dated mansion, and were met in the vestibule by the vicomte, who 
bade them most heartily welcome, and conducted them into the 


II LOVE BE LOVE. 


11 

grand salon, which had evidently undergone a process of scrubbing 
and polishing for their reception, Although the evening was mild, 
there was a feeling of damp uninhabitedness about the spacious tap- 
estried apartment, and the fire of crackling logs was by no means 
ungrateful. 

‘ 1 1 hope you will not think me remiss in not having any other la- 
dies to meet you,” said their host; “but I have lived so long out of 
the world, that I have lost all my former friends. Then, too, selfish- 
ly speaking, I anticipate more pleasure from being able to devote 
myself to making the nearer acquaintance of my charming neigh- 
bors than if I had to entertain a large party of comparative stran- 
gers.” 

“We like it better so,” replied Carmen, charmed by his affability, 
and not a little dazzled by his airs of grand seigneur, “do we not, 
Vere? Ah! my husband is busy looking at your works of art! He 
thinks of nothing else.” 

“For my part, I prefer the beauty of Nature,” said M. de Mal- 
slierbes, with a glance of thinly veiled admiration at the face of his 
lovely companion. 

The girl smiled, and blushed with pleasure. She could see no 
harm in such respectful homage. After all, she was beautiful, and 
why should she be ashamed, or others afraid, to acknowledge the 
fact? 

“ Vere’s theory is, that Art is the perpetuation of natural beauty. » 
What is that favorite quotation of his? — something about life being 
short, but Art lasting forever. Is that correct? I am no scholar,” 
she remarked, loyally endeavoring to defend her husband’s position. 

“ Ars longa vita brevis est! Perfectly correct and perfectly true, 
in one sense,” replied the vicomte, gallantly. “Believe me, dear 
lady, did I need conversion your words would have the desired ef- 
fect. But I maintain that, in another sense, Art is the handmaid of 
Nature, and living beauty must transcend its most immaculate rep- 
resentation, as I am sure M. Danvers would be the first to admit.” 

‘ ‘ He will not admit so much to me ; but then, he thinks I am vain 
enough already,” laughed Carmen, appropriating, as a matter of 
course, her host’s generalizations as a delicate compliment addressed 
to herself. 

“ What is that I will not admit?” asked Vere, turning round to 
join in the conversation after a prolonged inspection of one or two 
really fine paintings which adorned the walls. 

“ That a pretty woman is more lovely than her portrait, however 
perfect,” exclaimed Carmen, filled with a childish desire to show her 
husband that others appreciated her beauty justly if lie did not. 

“ M. de Malsherbes quite agrees with me.” 

‘ ‘ Doubtless he is too polite to differ from a lady on so trivial a 
subject,” replied Vere, dryly. This eagerness for admiration which 
his wife so openly displayed was a source' of intense annoyance to 
him; and particularly in the presence- of a man like their present 
entertainer, whose antecedents woul$ not lead him to place mu$i 
faith in the childlike simplicity frqga which it emanated. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


78 

The announcement of dinner caused a welcome break in the con- 
versation. Even M. de Malsherbes was getting a little embarrassed 
by Carmen’s want of tact in repeating to her husband that which 
had been meant solely for her own private delectation. 

The dining-room was a spacious and lofty apartment panelled en- 
tirely in black oak. From the centre of the ceiling depended a chan- 
delier of antique brass-work, supporting a single lamp, which shed a 
subdued light over the table, and left the rest of the room in com- 
parative obscurity. Three massive chairs, with red velvet seats and 
high backs, elaborately carved and surmounted by a coronet, occu- 
pied a segment of the large circular table, which had no covering 
save the glass and plate of the dinner equipment and a few vases 
containing flowers. 

In a corner of the room, adjoining a sliding panel which commu- 
nicated with the kitchen, stood a small carving-table, illuminated by a 
solitary candle, whose feeble rays seemed only to make the surround- 
ing darkness more apparent. Peering curiously into the gloom, 
Carmen could just distinguish the outline of two massive buffets 
from behind the glass fronts of which there appeared a glimmer of 
silver dishes and covers. Along the walls, at intervals, shadowy 
projections faintly defined themselves into antlers, boars’ heads, and 
other trophies of the chase, and under these a dozen or more chairs 
of the same stiff pattern as those they were about to occupy, were 
ranged with mathematical precision. 

Altogether, the first coup d’ceil was not suggestive of gayety or hi- 
larity; and the solemn, gray-haired domestic, in a faded livery, who 
stood behind his master’s chair waiting his signal to remove the cov- 
ers, presented a funereal appearance well in keeping with the sub- 
dued melancholy of his surroundings. 

However, as the meal progressed, v the dulness which at first seemed 
to oppress the little party, was dissipated, and gave place to lively 
conversation, in which their host and Carmen took the leading part. 
The viands were well cooked and nicely served, while the wine was 
unexceptionable. M. de Malsherbes had quite shaken off his air of 
habitual melancholy. He fulfilled his duties as host with the easy 
grace of a man who had not forgotten the ways of polite society, 
keeping his guests entertained with a fund of anecdotes relating to 
the Paris of his day, when he had been a notoriety and a favored 
visitor at all the fashionable salons. 

Yere was no great talker, being naturally of a reflective turn of 
mind; but the lively chatter of his entertainer, although it was main- 
ly egotistical, kept him amused; while to Carmen, this glimpse of 
high life, this vivacious description of the sayings and doings of his- 
torical personages, by one who had moved among them as one of 
themselves, afforded unalloyed pleasure. In 4 the excitement of re- 
calling and detailing his reminiscences, the vicomte’s eyes sparkled 
and liis pale cheeks flushed, so that he looked quite handsome, and 
the girl found herself marvelling how so interesting and good-look- 
ing a man could have been reduced to the lonely misanthrope he was 
when first they had known him. Much as she loved her husband — 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


79 


regarding him, hitherto, as the most perfect specimen of manhood 
she had met, it seemed to her that he was dwarfed and driven 
into the shade by the brilliancy of their new friend. Insensibly 
she compared Yere’s slow and unimaginative style of conversation 
with the flow of language — sometimes witty, sometimes impassioned, 
but always interesting — which M. de Malsherbes commanded, and 
the comparison hardly tended in favor of the former. 

When they adjourned into the salon the vicomte implored her to 
sing, and applauded her efforts with an ecstatic enthusiasm that 
thrilled her with pride and delight. Being herself intensely emo- 
tional, she appreciated these outward demonstrations of gratiflcation 
which Yere was always so slow to express. When she was glad, she 
liked to laugh; when sorrowful, to weep. She could not understand 
feeling emotion without giving expression to it, and in this she was 
at one with their host. 

“I hope Monsieur Danvers will not consider me too selfish in 
keeping you so long at the piano, ’’remarked M. de Malsherbes, as 
he urged Carmen to sing once more. “ It is so great a treat to me, 
and I feel sure that he, as an artist, must participate in my pleas- 
ure.” 

“ I am very fond of music,” replied Yere; “ but I think we ought 
to hear a song from you, to make a change in the programme.” 

“Ah! do, please,” cried Carmen, persuasively. “I am sure you 
sing yourself.” 

“ Yery little, and not for years,” said the vicomte, deprecatingly. 
“I used to sing duets with my poor mother; she had a charming 
voice, poor, dear lady! Something like yours, madame, but neither 
so powerful nor so sympathetic.” 

1 ‘ What did you sing? Ah, here is ‘ La ci darem la mano.’ I know 
Zerlina’s part, if you can take Don Giovanni. It is lovely. Let us 
try it.” 

“ There is nothing I should like better, if you will allow me,” re- 
plied M. de Malsherbes, glancing quickly towards Vere, and then 
into the smiling face of the fair enthusiast seated at the piano. 

Was he to attach a double meaning to her words? In his present 
state of romantic excitement the idea set his pulses throbbing at rail- 
way speed. All his old instincts were reviving under the fascination 
of this beautiful apparition. She was clearly touched by his devo- 
tion and by his past suffering; and when a woman’s pity is once en- 
gaged — $a ira loin! That cold-blooded Englishman, her husband, 
was not capable of satisfying the imaginations of an ardent, impres- 
sionable nature like hers. She wanted fire, romance, sympathy, ad- 
oration ; such as he, Yictor de Malsherbes, a kindred spirit, alone 
could offer. 

As their voices rose, now singly, now together, in Mozart’s bewitch- 
ing melody, the infatuated dreamer felt that he was pleading his own 
passion, and that Carmen knew it and was responding favorably to 
his entreaties. His brain was on fire, and he sang with an exagger- 
ated pathos, suiting his actions to the words, until, in the exaltation 
of the finale, he could scarcely withhold himself from clasping the 


80 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


lovely Zerlina to his bosom in a manner warmer even than is author- 
ized by stage etiquette. 

“ I must congratulate you on your performance. It is really quite 
operatic,” remarked Vere, in amused tones, as the excited singer, just 
recollecting himself in time, began wiping his heated brow vigorous- 
ly to mask his Confusion. ‘ ‘ And now, Carmen, it is getting late, 
and I think we had better say good-night. ” 

“ Pray don’t go yet, the evening has been so short, ’’urged M.. dej 
Malsherbes; “and I should so much like to try another duet witk 
madame.” 

But Yere was inexorable. In the first place, he was beginning to» 
weary of an entertainment in which he was allotted the position of 
mere spectator; and then, although he was far removed from the; 
faintest suspicion of what was passing in the vicomte’s mind, he* 
did not altogether approve his manner towards Carmen. The roll- 
ing eyes and passionate gesticulations might be in keeping with the 
music, and were, as he imagined, merely assumed for the occasion. 
Still, this buffoonery with another man’s wife jarred against his no- 
tions of what was fit, and he determined to avoid a repetition of it. 

Accordingly, after many protestations of regard from their eccen- 
tric host, the young people took their departure. 

As they walked home together through the park neither spoke 
much. Carmen was the first to break the silence. ‘ ‘ What a charm- 
ing man, and what a delightful evening we have spent!” she said, 
with a regretful sigh, as they reached their modest chalet, which 
stood out sharply defined in the light of the brilliant October moon. 
It looked a poor little cottage compared with the spacious chateau, 
and the girl’s heart was filled with vague, ambitious yearnings after 
grandeur and magnificence awakened by the vicomte’s interesting 
reminiscences. 

At length Vere replied, “I’m glad you think so. I found it in- 
fernally dull, and M. de Malsherbes is a good deal too stagey to 
please me.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ Trifles light as air 
Are to the jealous confirmation strong 
As proofs of Holy Writ.” — Shakespeaue. 

During the next few days Carmen could talk of nothing else but 
of M. de Malsherbes and his manifold perfections. 

Although anything but strong-minded in the ordinary accepta- 
tion of the term, the girl was endowed with extraordinary persist- 
ency in pursuit of any purpose which, for the time being, attracted 
her wayward fancies. She had a habit of shutting her eyes to ev- 
erything else — of thinking, talking, and dreaming even of nothing 
but the one all-absorbing object of interest, which made her a very 
undesirable companion for any one whose sympathies ran counter 
to her own. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


81 


Her life liad been so circumscribed, her sphere of action so 
cramped, that her ardent imagination had never found space in 
which to try its wings, and ascertain definitely how far its actual 
capabilities corresponded with the soaring aspirations that made 
her petty round of every-day occupations seem so monotonous and 
unsatisfying. 

For a time her friendship with Psyche had sufficed to fill the 
void occasioned by the disappearance of her father, and to make 
her solitary and bereaved condition less insupportable. Then came 
her intimacy with Vere— which began, so to speak, long before she 
actually knew him— when the newly awakened fire of love absorbed 
and consumed the gentler flame of girlish friendship. 

In the short, sweet days of courtship Vere had been her idol, her 
godhead; and she asked for nothing better than to be allowed to 
pour out her whole soul in worship, to live as his adoring slave. 

But Vere, partly from conscientious motives, and mainly because, 
with his less emotional nature, he was unable to enter into her feel- 
ings, set his face against this frenzied idolatry, and in striving by 
his own matter-of-fact example to moderate his wife’s outward 
demonstrations of affection, had incurred the risk of extinguishing 
the love which gave them birth. 

Sympathy, in its broadest interpretation, was a necessity of Car- 
men’s existence. She needed some one constantly at her side to 
lean upon and to look up to. She would have liked her husband to 
have remained always her lover, to have been continually reiterat- 
ing the tale of his affection, and claiming the assurance of its re- 
turn. 

All this seemed like simple childishness to Vere, and he declined 
to encourage a state of mind which he felt was neither healthy nor 
dignified. 

Smarting under a sense of injury, and humiliated by what she 
chose to regard as a rebuff to her affection, Carmen found in the at- 
tentions and admiration of M. de Malsherbes a welcome salve to 
her wounded pride. For the vicomte personally she cared nothing 
as yet. But the idea had entered her perverse little head that, by 
his instrumentality, her husband might be roused from the coldness 
and indifference into which she feared he was lapsing. And hav- 
ing once adopted this theory, regardless of the risks she was run- 
ning, she pursued it with an indefatigable pertinacity most trying to 
Vere’s patience. 

“My dear Carmen,” he exclaimed, at last goaded into open re- 
monstrance, “don’t you think we have had nearly enough of M. de 
Malsherbes? I will allow that he is all you appear to think him; 
but since he can never be more to us than a casual acquaintance, we 
can surely spend our time better than in perpetually discussing his 
merits.” 

“You may think so, but it doesn’t follow of necessity that I 
should agree with you,” she persisted, hoping to wring from him 
some expression of jealousy, some token, however slight, to provf.: 
that her deep-laid scheme was having the desired effect. 

6 


82 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Yere only smiled and shrugged his shoulders as he replied, in a 
tone of indifference, “Of course, you have a right to your own 
opinions, as I have to mine, and we can at least agree to differ. 
After all, it isn’t a matter of much moment. What a lovely after- 
noon! I am going for a stroll in the forest with my sketch-book. 
Will you come, too? You might bring your block and help me to 
compose a picture. You never do any painting now. It’s a pity, 
for you showed decided talent when you were my pupil.” 

“I’m sick of pictures and painting!” the girl began, passionately; 
then checking herself, as the recollection of those blissful days rose 
within her mind, she crossed over to her husband, and, putting her 
arms round his neck, added, in a softened tone, “Don’t be angry 
with me, Yere; I’ll go with you if you wish; I’ll do anything if 
you’ll only be kind and love me as you used.” 

“My dear child, how can you be so silly?” exclaimed Vere, thor- 
oughly puzzled, and not a little dismayed at the prospect of a scene. 
“ I only want you to do what you like — what will make you hap- 
py. And as for loving you, how can I love you more than I do? 
Have I not proved the sincerity of my affection by making you my 
wife?” 

“But that’s not enough! Men don’t always love their wives,” 
cried Carmen, bursting into tears and burying her face on his shoul- 
der. “And if I ever thought that you loved anybody else better 
than me, I would kill myself and you too !” 

“Really, Carmen, this is too childish!” he began, hardly knowing 
whether to soothe or scold her into a more reasonable frame of mind. 
“Once for all, I tell you that I love you dearly, but this absurd be- 
havior — ” He was interrupted by the sound of wheels outside, fol- 
lowed by a knock at the door. Involuntarily his voice assumed a 
sterner tone at the prospect of their being surprised in what was 
painfully like a matrimonial squabble. “For goodness’ sake, Car- 
men, dry your eyes and recover your senses,” he cried, impatiently, 
disengaging himself from her grasp. 

The girl’s eyes flashed fire, but before she could reply Louise ap- 
peared, announcing a visitor in the person of Mademoiselle Hortense 
Delaforet. 

“ Show her into the salon,” said Yere, curtly. Then, annoyed by 
the curious glances the woman was casting towards Carmen’s tear- 
stained face, he continued, angrily, “What are you waiting for? 
Didn’t you hear me?” 

“I thought perhaps monsieur might like me to say that he and 
madame were not at home,” said Louise, with her habitual cynical 
smile. 

“Please not to think, but do as you’re bid. You needn’t say any- 
thing about me; I am going out,” cried Yere, exasperated. Then 
turning to Carmen, who stood sobbing in sullen silence, “I suppose 
you must see her, as she knows you are in ; but you had better wait 
till you have recovered your composure, or we shall have it spread 
all over Boisy-la-Reine that we have been quarreling. That woman 
is an inveterate tattler.” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


83 


Carmen had dried her tears, but still remained silent. The storm 
that might have cleared the atmosphere had been checked in mid- 
career, and its only effect had been to leave her mind heaving with 
passionate and troublous thoughts, through which a vague sense of 
dissatisfaction with her husband, with herself, and with the whole 
world, made itself felt. For a moment she thought of refusing to 
receive her visitor, if only to spite Yere, but then, on reflection, she 
changed her mind. Even an unsympathetic confidant was prefer- 
able to none at all. 

Meanwhile, Yere, after waiting vainly for a reply, moved slowly 
towards the door, intent on making his escape by the back of the 
house. He had never cared much for the second Mademoiselle De- 
laforet, and he was not at all desirous of seeing her now. In his ab- 
sence Carmen might perhaps recover her senses. At any rate, he 
had no mind to be made a party to another scene in the presence of 
a stranger. 

Before leaving the room he turned to take another look at his 
wife. Something in her attitude and the mournful fixity of her 
gaze touched him with a feeling of compassion, she appeared so 
like a little child that had been scolded and left to fight out its in- 
fantile grief alone. After all, what was she but a grown-up baby? 
And so, although he felt the whole affair was nothing but a storm 
in a tea-cup, for which he could not in any wise be held answerable, 
he approached her with a kindly smile. 

“ Come, darling, let the sun shine again ; I’m sorry if I seemed 
cross; but upon my word I don’t know what there was to cry about. 
Come, kiss me, and let’s make it up.” 

Instantly her face cleared. “Oh, Yere, if you only knew how I 
love you!” she murmured, in a soft undertone, as she nestled up to 
him. 

“Yes, I know, my pet,” he replied, tenderly. Then, dreading an- 
other relapse into the heroics, he gently tore himself away and quit- 
ted the room. 

As he wandered forth^into the cool, shady forest, rich in bright 
autumn tints, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. The contrast be- 
tween the calm peacefulness of Nature and the atmosphere of fe- 
verish unrest that seemed to prevail in his own habitation was strik- 
ing and almost painful. Where was the idyllic happiness of which 
he had dreamed when he had first thought of making Carmen his 
life’s companion? Was their whole joint existence to be passed 
thus, in a perpetual series of tempestuous scenes, apropos of noth- 
ing? If so, it was a mournful outlook. 

Presently he sat down on a moss-covered stone and tried to sketch. 
But eye and hand played him false, and he threw down his pencil 
in disgust. 

“If this sort of thing continues,” he thought, “good-by to hopes 
of artistic success. A man can’t do justice to his work when his 
nerves are in a state of morbid excitement, and what with the news 
from home and Carmen’s vagaries, I am having a pretty lively time 
just now. I wonder I haven’t heard from my father, or that Psyche 


84 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


hasn’t written. Now, she’s my idea of a true woman — full of cour- 
age and energy as any man, yet tender-hearted and devoted, and with 
all a woman’s tact and delicacy of feeling. I wish she could come 
to stay here, or that I could take Carmen to her. Perhaps her in- 
fluence and example might make the poor child more reasonable 
and companionable; or, she might be able to supply me with a key 
to the mystery of Carmen’s behavior. Up to the present, I confess 
it beats me.” 

Thus cogitating, he bent his steps once more towards home, and 
when within a hundred yards of the chalet he met Madame Bou- 
chard’s victoria, drawn by a big Flemish stallion, with flowing mane 
and undocked tail. 

In it Mademoiselle Hortense Delaforet was seated in solitary state, 
and catching sight of Yere she screamed in a high treble to the 
driver to stop, beckoning the while to Yere with her sunshade. 

“ I have seen your wife,” she exclaimed, in a mysterious voice, as 
Yere approached the vehicle. 

“ Oh yes,” he replied, not best pleased at the meeting. 

“ She seems a little disturbed. Not quite easy in her mind,” con- 
tinued Mademoiselle Hortense. 

‘ ‘ The weather, I suppose. I hope your sisters are well. ” 

“One moment, Monsieur Danvers. You won’t be offended; but 
for a two months’ bride, your wife seems strangely preoccupied with 
your handsome neighbor. She could talk of nothing else. ” > . 

“Indeed! We find him very agreeable and amusing,” replied 
Yere, coldly. 

‘ ‘ I have known them both longer than you have. Take care he 
doesn’t make himself too agreeable,” she exclaimed, in a tragic whisper; 
then, raising her voice, “but I mustn’t detain you any longer; au 
revoir, Monsieur Danvers. Home, coachman, if you please.” 

Almost before she had finished speaking, Yere had turned on his 
heel, just raising his hat in parting salutation. 

He was more annoyed than he cared to show — at any rate, before 
this woman, who would ask for nothing letter than to witness his 
discomfiture. It was not that he believed that there was one parti- 
cle of foundation for the warning she had so officiously thrust upon 
him. He had too much faith in the depth of Carmen’s affection 
and in the purity of her nature to entertain such a notion for a sin- 
gle moment. Besides which, holding the vicomte’s artificial attrac- 
tions in good-natured contempt, he could not conceive that, under 
any circumstances, such a man could become a jdangerous rival. 

Nevertheless, he was incensed — and, as he thought, justly so — 
that Mademoiselle Hortense should have dared to hint at such a 
possibility, and the more so because he felt sure that, having origi- 
nated the notion, she would be sure not to let it lie dormant. 

“ She hates Carmen like poison, I know,” he thought; “and she’s 
not over -fond of me. Spiteful old cat! It’s just the character 
Psyche gave her. She can never bear to see people happy without 
trying to disturb them and do them a mischief. She’ll spread the 
report all over the place. I wish we had never seen the man!” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


85 


Yere found Carmen in a state of high glee and mirthfulness. 

“Oh, Vere!” she cried, “such fun! Old Hortense has left in a 
furious rage. She came trying her patronizing airs over me. Told 
me what to do and, what to avoid, as though I was still her sister’s 
dependent at the Pension. So I just amused myself by taking her 
down a little.” 

Yere smiled grimly. “I met her outside,” he said, “and she 
didn’t strike me as being in the sweetest of tempers.” 

“You’ve no idea what a jealous, selfish creature she is. You 
haven’t lived in the same house with her as I have. But I paid her 
out to-day. She’d borrowed Madame Bouchard’s carriage so as to do 
the grande dame and overawe me. She’d borrow anything of any- 
body, and never give it back if she could help it. But you should 
have seen her face when I told her we had been to dinner at the cha- 
teau, and expected M. de Malsherbes to dine with us in a few days. ” 

“ What has she got to do with M. de Malsherbes?” asked Yere. 

“Nothing; but she’d give her ears to be on such intimate terms 
with him as we are,” cried Carmen, jubilantly. 

“I’d give up my share of the intimacy for less than that — not 
that I value the ears of Mademoiselle Hortense, nor any part of her, 
very highly,” he replied, dryly. 

“She believes you were once in love with her, or would have 
been, if I hadn’t come between you. But don’t flatter yourself too 
much ; she thinks that of every man she meets. ” 

“ Carmen, you are romancing.” 

“Not at all,- 1 assure you. She gave me to understand that she 
still possessed the greatest influence over you.” 

“ So she does: she always roughs me up the wrong way.” 

Carmen’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Well, she’s going to per- 
suade you to break off with M. de Malsherbes; she said persuade, 
but she means oblige .” 

“And why, pray?” 

“Because you are a poor, blind fool; I a vain, silly baby, if not 
worse, and the vicomte an ogre who is ready to devour us both, but 
me especially, Aren’t you afraid, Yere, of the terrible prospect? 
Hadn’t we better run away from this terrible ogre?” And the girl 
nestled close up to her husband’s side in assumed terror. 

“I wish she was a man that I could tell her to mind her own busi- 
ness, and kick her out of the place if she didn’t,” growled Yere, who 
had an inveterate dislike for unsolicited advice. 

“I did better than that; I said I would ask your permission to 
invite her to meet M. de Malsherbes when he dines here. ” 

“Bravo, Carmen, that was a good thrust!” he exclaimed, rather 
proud of his wife’s powers of self-defence. “As you know, I don’t 
particularly care about M. le Yicomte, but we may as well ask him 
to spend an evening with us before I leave for England, if it’s only 
to show that meddlesome old woman that we don’t care for her 
interference.” 

Accordingly, after dinner, Yere strolled up to the chateau to in- 
vite M. de Malsherbes to dine with them one evening that week. 


86 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


The vicomte expressed himself delighted, and tried to detain his 
visitor for an hour’s smoke and chat. But Yere, pleading his wife’s 
loneliness as an excuse for his departure, did not remain long. He 
felt that there was so little in common between them, either as re- 
garded thought or feeling, that the intercourse, on his side, at any 
rate, was bound to be constrained and formal, and Yere hated talk- 
ing for talking’s sake. 

On his return, Carmen, who was charmed by the prospect of a 
little change, wrote off to invite Mademoiselle Delaforet, and either 
Mademoiselle Hortense or Mademoiselle Clarisse to meet M. de Mal- 
sherbes, and passed the rest of the evening in discussing the neces- 
sary arrangements for that terrible ordeal for a young house-keeper 
— her first dinner-party. 

The next morning’s mail brought Yere the anxiously- expected 
intelligence from Danverfield. This time it was his mother who 
wrote, openly and without resort to subterfuge; and the sight of her 
well-known handwriting on the envelope set Yere’s heart beating. 
The contents of the old lady’s long and tenderly- worded letter were 
such as might be expected under the circumstances. She urged 
him to come home without a moment’s delay, and begged him to 
assure his wife that, although she was not included in this invita- 
tion (owing to circumstances which Psyche would explain), a moth- 
er’s love was awaiting her, and that she (Mrs. Danvers) was longing 
to clasp her new and as yet unseen daughter in her arms, etc* 

Psyche’s enclosure consisted of a letter addressed to Carmen, and 
a few lines for Yere. These latter ran thus: 

“Your father is longing to see you, and all can be better arranged 
when you are here. For" the present he would rather you should 
come alone. Am writing to Carmen. 

“ Yours ever, Psyche.” 

Having hitherto said nothing to his wife about the object of his 
journey, Yere thought it necessary, before handing her Psyche’s let- 
ter, to give her a brief explanation as to how matters stood at Dan- 
verfield. Carmen listened in moody silence. She had almost for- 
gotten that her husband intended leaving her, and now that the 
project was revived, she liked it even less than at first. 

“ Why must you go now?” she asked/ “I shall feel so lonely 
without you.” 

“ Well, you see, I can’t'help myself. As I have told you, my fa- 
ther is very crotchety, and I don’t want to lose the opportunity of a 
reconciliation while he is in the humor for it,” replied Yere. 

* ‘ Take me with you, then. I can’t bear to be alone. I have no 
friends but you,” urged the girl, piteously. 

‘ ‘ My dear child, I wish you’d be reasonable. I tell you it is a 
matter of the greatest importance for both of us that I should go at 
once and alone, and surely you can get on without me for a few 
days. I’d gladly take you with me if I could, but you yourself re- 
fused to undertake the journey the other day; and now there are 
reasons, which this letter will explain, why you should remain. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


87 


You may be sure that I shall hurry back as soon as I can, and I 
hope to persuade Psyche to return with me.” 

Yere was picking out his cousin’s letter from among a bundle of 
others, so did not catch the sudden glance of suspicious inquiry that 
flashed from Carmen’s eyes at his concluding words. 

“Here it is,” he continued, passing it to her; “and I hope the ad- 
vice of our best and stanchest friend will have more weight than mine. 
"We shall never be able to repay her for all she has done for us.” 

“How so?” asked Carmen, sharply. 

“Why, my dear girl, how can you ask? Hasn’t she stuck up for 
me through thick and thin? Didn’t she make your life happier for 
you at the Pension? Do I not owe it to her that you are my wife? 
And now, to crown all, she’s going to restore me to my family; for 
I swear it’s her doing — every inch of it. Nobody else has the slight- 
est influence with my father. You don’t know how she’s toiled, and 
schemed, and persevered in spite of every discouragement,” said 
Yere, in a tone of deep feeling. 

“If you love her so much, why didn’t you ask her to be your wife 
instead of me?” cried Carmen, almost fiercely. 

Yere gazed at her in blank astonishment. ‘ * Carmen, I’m ashamed 
of you — I didn’t think you could be such a baby!” he said, in high 
displeasure. 

“ I’m not baby enough to like to hear you exalt another woman 
before me like that,” she hissed out from between her set teeth. 

“ Oh, very well, we won’t discuss it further, since it pleases you 
to be so insanely jealous. ” 

“ Is she going to be there?” asked the girl, after a long pause. 

“ Certainly.” 

“Then I forbid you to go alone.” 

“ Nonsense, Carmen ! You don’t know what you are talking 
about. It is not for you to say what I am to do,” said Yere, stern- 
ly. He had never before been really angry with her; but this was 
beyond the limits of his forbearance, and she must be made to un- 
derstand that he was master of his own actions. “ Now, listen,” he 
continued — “I had intended remaining until after the dinner on Fri- 
day; but since you are so unreasonable, I shall start for England 
to-morrow, and we must defer our party until I return. I shall 
leave you now to think over your behavior; and I am sure you will 
come to see that you are in the wrong, and enable me to forgive you 
before I go.” Upon which he quitted the room without waiting for 
Carmen’s response. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

“Some hidden principle to move, 

To put together, part and prove, 

And mete the bounds of hate and love.” 

Tennyson. 

Left to herself, Carmen burst into a paroxysm of tears, not of 
regret, but of fierce, uncontrollable passion. 


88 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Presently lier eyes lighted on Psyche’s letter, which Vere had left 
for her on the table. She pounced on it like a tigress upon her prey, 
and, without stopping to read, tore it, with teeth and fingers, into a 
hundred fragments. 

“I hate her, I hate her!” she almost shrieked. “Do you hear 
me, Vere? I hate your paragon of perfection! I should like to treat 
her like this letter!” and she ground the inoffensive paper under her 
little foot. 

Presently the door was gently opened, and Louise entered the 
room. 

“Did madame call?” she asked, softly. 

Carmen glared at her, pushing back her dishevelled hair. ‘ * What 
do you want? Have you come to mock me? Take care, I am dan- 
gerous.” 

“Helas! no, dear madame. I only came to see if I could be of 
any service to madame in her trouble.” 

“What do you know of my trouble?” asked Carmen, fiercely. • 

‘ ‘ I guess it from what I have suffered myself. My husband was 
a brute, and ill-treated me. ” 

“How dare you suggest such a thing? It’s false; he loves me. 
It’s all her fault. ” 

“Yes, there’s always a her at the bottom of it. But I spoiled the 
beauty of mine,” said the woman, with grim fe.rocity. 

“Tell me, what did you do?” cried Carmen, eagerly. 

“Not now; some other time, if madame wishes. Jacques nearly 
killed me for it; but at least I was revenged, and then I left him.” 

“My husband is leaving me. Oh, I cannot let him go. Louise, 
send him to me at once.” 

“Monsieur has gone out towards the town. He will come back 
soon, never fear,” said the woman, soothingly. 

“But he’s going away to-morrow to England — to her.” 

“If I might venture to advise madame, she will hide her tears, 
and treat the matter lightly. Men are like that. If they think you 
cannot do without them, they go ; but persuade them that you do 
not want them, and they remain.” 

“ My husband is not like other men,” exclaimed Carmen, proudly. 

‘ ‘ Pardon, madame, but I think differently. I have kept my eyes 
open since I have been here. Madame has been too kind, too tender, 
and monsieur has thought lightly of her in consequence. I know 
the way of husbands.” 

“What shall I do, then? Tell me, Louise, quick ! You who 
know.” 

“I can only say what I think; what my love for madame makes 
me suggest. If I were madame I should command him once more 
not to leave me; and if he persisted, I should say, ‘Very well, so 
much the worse for you. ’ ” 

“And then, if he went?” cried the girl, breathlessly. 

“And then— Well, I should take steps to console myself in his 
absence; and, who knows, perhaps punish him.” 

“ But liow?” 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


89 


“ That I must leave to madame,” replied the woman, with an acid 
smile. “Madame has cause for jealousy. Could not monsieur be 
made to feel the same torments? There is a gentleman not far from 
here who adores madame.” 

“ Louise, what do you mean?” asked Carmen, shrinking under the 
woman’s crafty gaze. In her mad passion she had forgotten her 
dignity, her self-respect; and now it was evident that she had lost 
both in the eyes of her dependent. 

Louise was quick to remark the revulsion of feeling, and dreading 
the consequences if the girl saw fit to confide in her husband, humbly 
made reply, * ‘ Madame must remember that I spoke at her own re- 
quest; I merely put myself in her place, and said what I should do.” 

“Leave me now, I am tired — I want to think,” said Carmen, 
wearily ; and the maid silently stole out of the room with a back- 
ward glance, half anxious, half malicious. 

Meanwhile Yere, having written an apologetic note to M. de Mal- 
sherbes asking him to postpone his visit, started for Boisy-la-Reine, 
intending to post it there, and then to call upon and consult with 
his good friend Mademoiselle Delaforet. 

Although habitually easy-going and good-tempered, this final out- 
burst of infantile jealousy, following close on his irritating interview 
with Mademoiselle Hortense and the preceding scene with his wife, 
had completely upset his equanimity. As he strode away along the 
dusty incline that led towards the town, he communed bitterly with 
himself on the new and uncomfortable phase in his relations towards 
Carmen which this last display of ill-governed temper inaugurated. 

‘ ‘ I could forgive anything but ingratitude and indelicacy,” he thought. 
“But we have come to a pretty pass when my own wife dares to 
make such an accusation to my face, and without the slightest 
foundation. Something must be done to put a stop to this sort of 
thing, or life will become a burden to both of us. Yes, the best 
thing I can do is to carry out my threat and start to-morrow; per- 
haps a little solitary reflection may bring her to her senses. Any- 
how, I must put my foot down now, once and for always, or neither 
of us will ever have an hour’s peace. ” 

Arrived at Boisy-la-Reine, he went straight to the Pension, and 
was much disgusted to find that Mademoiselle Delaforet had gone 
out, and was not expected back until the evening. 

Yere reflected that if he returned home to dinner, it would be al- 
most too late for him to come back to town again that night; and, as 
it was essential that he should see the old lady before he started, and 
try to make some arrangement to lessen his wife’s loneliness during 
his absence, he decided to dine at the Aigle Noir, and to call again 
on Mademoiselle Delaforet later in the evening. 

In adopting this course he felt some compunction on Carmen’s ac- 
count, but he could see no other alternative, and thought, besides, 
that by leaving her to partake of the evening meal alone, he would 
better mark a sense of his displeasure at her outrageous conduct. 

Madame Bouchard welcomed him with every demonstration of 
delight and surprise. 


90 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Ah, Monsieur Danvers! so you are giving yourself a holiday 
from the nest. Ah, well ! after two months’ constant billing and 
cooing, I think you deserve it. It doesn’t do for a' man to be always 
tied to his wife’s apron-strings. But what does madame say?” 

Yere explained briefly that his visit was unexpected and com- 
pulsory, owing to a sudden call to England. 

“Mon Dieu! She will be inconsolable — your little wife. But 
we will look after her during your absence. Apropos, Mademoi- 
selle Hortense drove in my carriage to visit her to-day, and she 
brings back quite a history about M. de Malsherbes and his inti- 
macy with you — and your wife! But one must not believe a]l that 
that amiable creature says; she is so romantic, and perhaps a little 
fond of scandal. There is nothing in it, of course. Naturally M. 
le Yicomte would be charmed to cultivate the intimacy of such 
agreeable neighbors; while his elegant admiration would amuse and 
flatter a young and unsophisticated creature like your beautiful 
‘ bride.’ ” 

Yere had hard work to restrain an outspoken expression of his 
opinion on Mademoiselle Hortense’s cackling propensities, but dread- 
ing to give thereby further foothold to the incipient scandal, he 
turned the conversation with some casual remark, and shortly after- 
wards took his leave, having ordered a vehicle for the morning to 
convey him to the station. 

He found on reaching the Pension that Mademoiselle Mathilde 
had not yet returned, although it was now getting late. Having 
delayed so long, he did not care to go away without seeing her, so 
accepted the invitation of Mademoiselle Clarisse to await her arrival, 
and entered the house. 

The state parlor into which he was ushered recalled the memory 
of his first interview with Carmen, and the still later one, when, after 
plighting their troth, they indulged in ecstatic anticipations of a hap- 
py future. How far away that seemed! But not so far as the 
happiness to which they had then looked forward without hesitation 
or doubt. 

Nine o’clock struck, then the half-hour, and Mademoiselle Clarisse, 
who had retired to superintend the dismissal of the pupils to their 
dormitories, re-entered with many apologies for her sister’s prolonged 

absence. “ She has gone over to see Madame Goodchaux at M ,” 

she explained, ‘ ‘ and must have missed her train or have been per- 
suaded to remain for dinner.” 

At last, just as Yere had decided to wait no longer, a cab drew up 
at the door, and Mademoiselle Delaforet entered the room. 

“You here, Monsieur Danvers — and at this hour! I am so sorry 
to have kept you waiting,” she exclaimed, throwing off her mantle 
and bonnet. “And now we will not waste time in needless expla- 
nations, as I know you must be anxious to return home. But tell 
me at once what I can do for you.” 

“I have to start for England early to-morrow morning,” Yere be- 
gan. * ‘ And as, «f or various reasons, my wife is unable to accompany 
me, I am come to ask you if, during my short absence, you would 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


91 


kindly consent to spend a few days at Beaurivage, so that she may 
not be left quite alone.” 

The old lady pondered a moment, then replied, regretfully, “ I do 
not see how I can quit my little flock during term-time.” - 

“ But surely, for a few days, your sisters — ” 

‘ ‘ Poor Hortense, you know she doesn’t count. She has her own 
private troubles to occupy her mind. To be sure, there’s Clarisse, a 
capital worker — my right hand, I call her — but she is rather young 
to have the whole responsibility of an establishment like this on her 
~~ shoulders. Young girls are curious animals to drive, though per- 
haps you have discovered that for yourself by now,” said Made- 
moiselle Mathilde, with a kindly chuckle, more than half expecting 
Yere to break out in an ardent defence of the genus jeunejille. 

But he was intent on accomplishing the object of his visit, be- 
sides being in no mood for badinage. So he only grimaced a smile, 
and returned to the attack. ‘ ‘ Do you think you could spare Made- 
moiselle Clarisse? It will not be for long — a week or ten days at 
the utmost. I shall regard it as a great favor.” 

“ Oh, she would enjoy it above all things, and so should I, for the 
matter of that. But we cannot always do what we like in this world. 
Stay, I have the best solution. Why should not Carmen come and 
stay with us? We shall be delighted, and it will be a little novelty 
for her to return to school after such a long holiday. ” 

“You are very kind. I’m really ashamed to give you so much 
trouble,” replied Yere. “May I leave it an open question, that if 
you really cannot manage to get away, or to spare your sister, Car- / 
men shall come to you?” 

“Certainly. I will consult with Clarisse, and arrange either to 
write or see the dear child to-morrow. It will be quite a fete to have 
her among us again,” exclaimed Mademoiselle Delaforet, joyfully. 

“ ThUnk you very much. I will tell Carmen to be prepared for 
either alternative,” said Yere, rising to take leave. “ By-the-way, I 
forgot to mention that our little dinner-party will have to be post- 
poned till my return.” 

“Cela va sans dire! If it is not an impertinent question, is not 
your departure unexpectedly sudden?” asked the old lady. 

Yere hesitated whether or no to confide to her the reasons that 
had induced him to alter his plans, but not liking to make too much 
of his domestic troubles, he decided to keep his own counsel. After 
all, perhaps, it was only a passing cloud, and might blow over, and 
then he would be sorry if he had exposed his wife’s weaknesses even 
to so trusted a friend as Mademoiselle Delaforet. 

“It is somewhat sudden,” he replied, pressing the old lady’s hand. 
“My father, from whom, as you know, I have been estranged for 
many years, is desirous of seeing me. And you will understand my 
anxiety to lose no time in effecting a reconciliation for my wife’s 
sake as well as my own, and, above all, for the sake of my poor 
mother, whose unworthy favorite I am.” 

“Poor woman! how she must have suffered!” cried Mademoiselle 
Mathilde, with tears in her eyes. “Well,! must not detain you 


92 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


longer, or Carmen will become anxious. Poor child, it is rather a 
trial for her to lose you so soon. Au re voir, Monsieur Danvers; I 
wish you a safe and pleasant journey.” 

Yere looked at his watch as he left the house, to find it was nearly 
eleven, and, although he strode along as fast as his legs would carry 
him, it was close on midnight when he arrived at home. 

A light was burning in the salon, and he hoped for a moment that 
his wife was sitting up for him, ready to accept the forgiveness 
which he was so anxious to accord. His anger had evaporated a 
good deal in the course of the evening, and although he was still de- 
termined to make her retract her words and acknowledge the injus- 
tice of her suspicions, he was prepared to exact the lightest possible 
atonement, and to let absolution follow immediately on confession. 

His latch-.key gave him admittance to the hall, and on opening the 
door of the sitting-room, he was disappointed on finding it tenant- 
less. “Poor child, she was worn out, I suppose, and has retired to 
rest. I hope, though, she isn’t asleep, for I sha’n’t have much time 
in the morning. I must start at 8.30, and there’s my packing to do 
yet.” Thus musing, he directed his steps to his wife’s room. What 
was his surprise, on turning the handle, after softly knocking, to find 
the door locked ! He knocked again once or twice, and was on the 
point of calling out to waken her, when Louise appeared in the pas- 
sage, lamp in hand. 

“Madame asked me to beg you not to disturb her. She has a bad 
headache, and thought she would like to rest quietly,” she said, in a 
low voice. 

“Well, but I want to see her to-night. I shall have no time in 
the morning. How long has she been up-stairs?” asked Yere, im- 
patiently. 

“For some hours. She waited dinner till it was all spoiled, 
and then her head became so bad that she could not eat, and I per- 
suaded her to take a cup of tea and retire to rest — monsieur being 
so uncertain in his hours of entry,” she replied, with a malicious 
intonation which escaped Yere’s notice in the perplexity of the 
moment. 

“ I was detained in Boisy-la-Reine, ” he began — then checked him- 
self. Why should he stoop to exculpate himself to his servant? 

The woman glanced sharply at him out of the corners of her eyes, 
then said “Indeed!" and paused, an incredulous smile hovering 
about her thin lips. 

“I can sleep in the spare room,” said Yere, after a moment’s re- 
flection. ‘ ‘ I shall want my coffee at six o’clock to-morrow morn- 
ing, and you can call madame at the same time. I have to start at 
eight. You need not wait; I don’t require anything more.” 

“Bon tepos, mon beau monsieur,” muttered Louise, beneath her 
breath, as she withdrew. “ I wish you pleasant dreams and a glad 
awakening; but, if madame follows my advice, you won’t have much 
stomach for your journey.” 

Tired as he was, Yere did not get much real sleep until daylight 
began to show through the blinds, and then he fell into a sound, un- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


93 


conscious slumber, from which he awoke with a start on hearing the 
servant at his door. 

Looking lazily at his watch, he found that it was already seven 
o’clock. 

“ That confounded woman overslept herself, I suppose,” he mut- 
tered, as he hurriedly performed his toilet. ‘ ‘ I shall have no end 
of a rush to get my things packed and ready by the time the vehicle 
arrives.” 

Presently he rang his bell, and when Louise appeared with his 
coffee and toast, he interrupted her excuses to bid her take his port- 
manteau into his wife’s room, and to put out his clothes ready for 
packing. 

“Is monsieur going, after all, to-day?” asked the woman, with 
some slight show of surprise. “ I was afraid it would be too late.” 

“ Of course I am,” he replied. “Tell your mistress I will come in 
to see her in about five minutes; but I am very pressed for time, 
owing to your stupidity. How is she this morning?” 

“As well as can be expected; but she does not think monsieur 
is going.” 

“ Nonsense; she knows that I must. Now see about my things 
at once. .Mind, I only want them put ready. I will pack them my- 
self; there’s no trusting you women. I don’t want to take my whole 
wardrobe; I sha’n’t be away more than a week.” 

“ Oh, monsieur is coming back so soon! A la bonne heure,” said 
Louise as she withdrew, adding to herself, when she was out of hear- 
ing, “We shall see; but I don’t believe it.” 

As soon as he was dressed, Yere hurried into Carmen’s room. He 
found her seated at her dressing-table in her 'peignoir , gazing mourn- 
fully at her own reflection in the looking-glass, while Louise was 
bustling about opening drawers and cupboards, and arranging his 
garments in neat little piles on the bed. 

As he advanced towards her he could see in the glass that Carmen 
started and changed color; but she showed no signs of rising, nor 
did she return his greeting. 

“ Louise, you can go; I will finish them myself,” said Yere; and 
then, as soon as they were alone, he advanced to his wife’s side. 

“Come, Carmen, do not let us part in anger,” he said; “I am 
sorry I was so late last night, but I had to see Mademoiselle Dela- 
foret about staying with you during my absence, and, as ill-luck 
would have it, she was out and kept me waiting till past ten 
o’clock.” 

The girl, whose eyes were heavy and dark-rimmed, as though from 
much weeping, merely averted her head and kept silent. 

“ Carmen, my dear child, surely you must see that it is your place 
to ask my forgiveness for your cruel and unjust accusation of yes- 
terday. But look! rather than perpetuate this miserable quarrel, I 
will set you the example, and ask your pardon if, in the heat of an- 
ger, I said more thau I ought,” he cried,' tenderly taking her cold 
little hand and pressing it to his lips. 

A faint shiver passed through the girl’s frame. She raised her 


94 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


bloodshot eyes to his face with a look of mingled incredulity and 
hope, and for a moment seemed as though she was about to fall 
weeping into his arms. 

In spite of his previous., resolves and the pressing necessity for his 
presence at Danverfield, Vere would willingly have sacrificed both 
amour propre and convenience for the sake of breaking through this 
icy coldness, which was an entirely new phase in his wife’s char- 
acter, and as painful to him as it was strange. 

He was about to appeal once more to her better feelings, w r lien 
Louise’s harsh voice was heard outside. She was singing lustily, 

“ Malbrouck s’en va-t-en guerre, 

Miranton, miranton, mirantaine ; 

Malbrouck s’eu va-t-en guerre, 

Dieu sait quand il reviendra.” 

Both Carmen and Vere were startled by this unusual outburst, 
and the latter was possessed with a strong inclination to open the 
door, and fling a boot or some other handy missile at the untime- 
ly songstress’s head. Nor was his wrath diminished when, on 
looking again into his wife’s eyes, he perceived that the love-light 
had died out of them, giving place once more to cold distrust and 
suspicion. 

“If you mean what you say,” she said at last, in a voice that 
seemed to have caught the harsh tones from outside — “ if you mean 
what you say, prove your sincerity by abandoning this journey.” 

“Carmen, how can I? You know what hangs upon it. Besides, 
do you think that I have no love for my mother and father — my 
poor mother who has been longing to see me all these years?” 

“Then, let me go with you,” cried the girl, turning on him with 
an imploring gesture. 

“You know I cannot do that now; Psyche told you why in her 
letter. But another time you shall certainly do so. In fact, I hope 
soon we shall be able to make our home in England, and live near 
my parents.” 

“You won’t do anything to please me,” she said, sullenly. 

“ I will do anything in reason. I will postpone my departure till 
to-morrow, or even for two or three days, if you will only withdraw 
what you said yesterday.” 

“ I cannot do that while you lead me to think it is true.” 

‘ * My poor child ! you are trying your best to wreck my happiness 
—and your own,” said Vere, sadly. “ For Heaven’s sake, consider 
what you are doing. ” 

“I have considered,” she replied, in a hollow voice. “Either you 
love me, or you do not. If you love me, you stay. If you go — I 
know what to believe.” 

“ Carmen, this is simple madness! I cannot stoop to argue the 
point with you. I could not stay even if I wished after what.you 
have said, for to do so would be to allow that your suspicions are 
not without foundation. I can only pray that in my absence you 
will think over all that has happened, and learn to take a juster 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


95 


view of my conduct. I believe you love me, and should no more 
dream of doubting your honor than my own. Try if you cannot 
cultivate the same trust in me that I have in you.” 

Carmen, who had flashed back sullen defiance to his indignant 
disclaimer, seemed moved by the gentle earnestness with which he 
concluded his appeal. Again the yearning look came into her eyes. 
Again, in her quivering features, he could plainly read the fierce in- 
ternecine conflict between “Faith and Unfaith.” Surely, with love 
for an ally, the former must win. And Yere advanced his hand to 
draw her to him. 

“Pardon, monsieur; the carriage has arrived for the station,” said 
Louise, entering the room. “Bon Dieu! Monsieur’s portmanteau 
is not yet packed. Then monsieur is not going to-day?” 

At critical moments in our life a very small matter often suffices • 
to turn the balance. A word, a look, a gesture may upset our equi- 
librium and entail the most momentous consequences. 

So now, an indefinable something in the woman’s manner, a sus- 
picion of malicious triumph in her voice — so vague, that it gave him 
no handle for open reproof — roused Yere to a sense that his dignity 
and marital authority were at stake. It flashed across his mind that 
Louise had been counselling insubordination. 

Instantly his determination was set not to depart from his word. 
Carmen must own her fault and ask his forgiveness, or he would 
not postpone his journe} r by a single hour. 

He turned to his wife, intercepting, as he fancied, a look of intel- 
ligence between her and her maid. “It is for you to decide — shall 
I go or stay?” Unconsciously his tone betrayed his irritation and 
dispelled the charm of his previous tenderness. 

“ Stay!” cried the girl, with a passionate fervor that made it sound 
almost like a command. 

“You know the conditions,” he said, shortly. 

Carmen hesitated, and glanced appealingly at Louise, who pressed 
her thin lips into a cynical smile, and declined to take the hint to 
leave them alone. 

Yere half divined the situation, but determined not to help her. 
Carmen had chosen to make this woman her confidante; let her make 
her submission in her presence. 

“Well?” he asked, beginning to throw some of his clothes into 
the open portmanteau, more to conceal his anxiety than as a form of 
coercion. 

Unhappily, Carmen construed it in the latter sense. 

“You can please yourself ,” she said, hoarsely. 

“ Then kindly help me to pack my bag, or I shall lose the train,” 
replied Yere, with affected calmness, continuing the operation. 

The girl made a movement as though to fling herself on her knees 
beside him, but restrained herself and dashed violently out of the 
room. 

Ten minutes later Yere sought her to say a few parting words. 
But Carmen had locked herself in the salon, and, as she remained 
deaf to his last appeal, he drove away sad at heart, without one con- 


96 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


ciliatory word or token of affection from the wife who so lately had 
vowed him her life-long fealty and devotion. 


CHAPTER XY. 

“ The world hath its delights, 

And its delusions too ; 

But Home to calmer bliss invites, 

More tranquil and more true.” 

John Bowring. 

At eight o’clock on the morning following his departure from 
Boisy-la-Reine Yere found himself at the railway-station of the little 
country town nearest to Danverfield. 

Stiff in every limb, and chilled to the bone after twenty-four 
hours of almost continuous travelling, he staggered out on to the plat- 
form and hailed the only porter visible, in whom he recognized an 
old acquaintance. 

“ Good-morning, Hodges. Glad to see you’re still to the fore. 
Just bring my luggage across to the other side, will you? I suppose 
you don’t happen to know whether my father has sent the carriage 
for me?” 

“Lor’ bless my soul, it’s Master Yere,” exclaimed the old man, 
touching his cap in friendly recognition. * ‘ Glad to see you again, 
sir; it’s a tidyish time since you’ve been in these parts.” 

“ Yes, Hodges, getting on for four years. And how’s the world 
been using you?” 

* ‘ Pretty much in the old style, sir. The loikes of us don’t get much 
variation in our perfession. Yer see it’s trains all day long, from 
morning till night, and trains is trains all the world over. Sharpish 
frost last night, sir; I doubt yer found it main cold travelling.” 

“ Yes, I was none too warm. Now, what about this trap? I wired 
them from Paris to say I should arrive this morning, so I suppose 
they will have sent to meet me. ” 

“The carriage is outside, sir; I saw it drive up just before the 
down train were due. It were over yesterday, too, to meet the doc- 
tor from Lun’on. Maybe you’ve heard of the squire’s mishap?” 

“ No; what has happened?” inquired Yere, anxiously. 

“Th’ ole gentleman’s had a bad fall from his horse, and they du 
say as how he’s main bad.” 

“ Good gracious! Why didn’t you tell me at once? Come, bring 
my things along; I mustn’t waste any more time,” exclaimed Yere, 
hurrying through the ticket-office and out into the road, where he 
found Charlie waiting for him in the dog-cart. 

“Here you are, old man — I’m jolly glad you’ve come,” cried his 
cousin, shaking him warmly by the hand; “ though I’m sorry to be 
the bearer of rather bad news.” 

“I’ve just heard something about it,” replied Yere, settling himself 
in the cart. “How did it happen? Is it really serious?” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


97 


“I’m afraid so. The squire was out with the hounds bn Tues- 
day, riding a young horse, and came to grief over a gate. He was 
pitched on to his head, and we had to take him home in a cart — sense- 
less. Your telegram arrived yesterday, just as we were going to wire 
to you to come over at once,” said Charlie, as he gathered up the 
reins and started the mare at a quick trot. 

“ Any bones broken?” asked Yere, after a moment’s pause. 

“T^o; at least, the doctor thinks not. But he’s suffering from a 
slight concussion of the brain, and hasn’t quite recovered his senses 
yet.” 

“By Jove, I am sorry! I suppose he won’t know me now I’ve 
come?” 

Charlie shook his head doubtfully. “He has to be kept awfully 
quiet, and I haven’t seen him myself since the accident. He won’t 
have any one near him but Psyche, and she says he keeps mention- 
ing your name in his ramblings. ” 

“Poor old dad!” exclaimed Yere, gently; and then, after a few 
more questions, he relapsed into a mournful silence which lasted al- 
most unbroken until they reached the well-known lodge gates, and 
drove up to the home of his childhood. 

Mrs. Danvers, who had evidently been on the lookout for them, 
appeared at the door, pale and trembling with mingled excitement 
and anxiety; but as she folded her long-absent son in her arms, the 
mother’s joy momentarily obliterated all other griefs, and found 
vent in a few silent tears of delight and thankfulness. 

“Yere, my boy; home at last,” were the only words she could find 
voice to utter; but the avidity with which she returned his embraces, 
and her looks of mingled pride and joy, told more eloquently than 
any set phrases of undiminished love and tender solicitude. 

‘ ‘ Come, dear mother, let me take you in-doors. It’s too cold for 
you to stay out here,” said Yere, gently leading the old lady, alter- 
nately smiling and weeping, into the hall. Here he was warmly 
greeted by his sisters and Captain Compton, who had considerately 
kept themselves in the background until Mrs. Danvers had had her 
say. 

“Where’s Psyche?” asked Yere, remarking the absence of her 
whom, next his mother, he had most looked forward to meeting. 

“ She’s up-stairs with poor father,” replied his sister Mary. “I’ll 
let her know you’re here presently. But you must be starving; come 
in and have some breakfast, and you can do your talking after- 
wards. ” 

“ Yes, poor boy, he looks quite perished with cold and hunger,” 
cried his mother, leading the way to the breakfast-room, where she 
jealously monopolized the right of attending to his wants. 

Apart from the discomforts of travel, Yere’s mind had been so 
fully occupied with anxious speculations as to what manner of re- 
ception awaited him at home, and with still more perturbed reflec- 
tions on the painful scene with Carmen which preceded his depart- 
ure, that sleep had not visited his eyes during the night journey from 
London. Consequently, when he had satisfied the cravings of hun- 


98 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


ger, he did not require much persuasion to induce him to adopt his 
toother’s suggestion that he should try to snatch an hour’s rest in his 
room pending the arrival of the doctor, without whose express sanc- 
tion none but Mrs. Danvers and Psyche were allowed to visit the in- 
valid. 

It seemed almost like a dream to yere, this being once more un- 
der the paternal roof, and as he dozed off, his last coherent impres- 
sion was that he should probably wake to find himself in his bed- 
room at Beaurivage. 

But the force of old associations is lasting. And when by-and-by 
he opened his eyes and discovered his mother standing by his side 
in a state of tearful gladness, his hold on his actual surroundings be- 
came assured, while the incidents of the past four years seemed to be 
wrapped in the haze of unreality. 

“Doctor Metcalf has just left, and I thought, dear, you would like 
to hear his report; although I am sorry now to have disturbed you 
out of such a beautiful sound sleep,” began Mrs. Danvers.' 

“ Have I slept long? What time is it, mother?” asked Yere, sit- 
ting up and rubbing his eyes. 

“ Close upon one o’clock.” 

“By Jove! So late? I’m glad you roused me. Can I see my 
father?” 

The old lady shook her head. “Not to-day, the doctor says. 
He’s afraid of any excitement just at present, although, on the whole, 
he thinks there is a slight improvement in your poor father’s condi- 
tion.” 

“Well, I’ll come down anyway. I suppose you adhere to the old 
dinner-hour?” 

“ Yes, two o’clock. You’ll find Psyche down-stairs. I’m just 
going up to relieve guard. I don’t know what we should have done 
without that dear girl. She can manage her uncle better than any 
of us. ” 

“ She’s a regular trump,” cried Yere, ‘ ‘ and nobody has more cause 
to say so than I have. I’ll just make myself tidy, and be down in a 
few minutes.” 

Mrs. Danvers pressed a loving kiss on her son’s brow, and left him 
to arrange his toilet. 

As he descended the stairs Yere heard a light foot-fall behind him, 
and, turning round, beheld Psyche, who had just emerged from her 
uncle’s room. 

“My dear girl, is it you? I’m so glad to see you,” he cried, clasp- 
ing both her hands in his — ‘ ‘ let me have a good look at my guardian 
angel. Ma parole, how you have altered!” 

“I’ve grown older, I suppose, and so have you, Yere,” replied the 
girl, dropping her eyes under his searching gaze. 

“I didn’t mean that. More beautiful, I meant to say — only I 
know you don’t like compliments — though this is nothing but the 
plain truth. What a time it is since we have met — and what a lot 
of things I -have to say to you: and first of all,” continued Vere in a 
tone of deep feeling, “that you’re the best ag4 truest friend that 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


99 


ever man had. I’m no sort of hand at expressing my feelings in 
words, but you’ll believe me when I say that I thank you for all 
you have done for me from the bottom of my heart.” 

“ Please don’bVere — I’d rather you wouldn’t,” murmured Psyche, 
a deep blush spreading slowly over her face; “I’ve done no more 
for you than any one else would have done under the same circum- 
stances.” 

“That’s nonsense, Psyche,” exclaimed Yere, wondering at her 
confusion ; ‘ ‘ still, if, like the modest violet, you prefer to let your 
virtues bloom unnoticed, I’ll respect your wishes ; but my senti- 
ments remain the same, and nothing will ever change them.” 

“How did you leave Carmen?” asked the girl, recovering her 
self-possession. 

It was Vere’s turn to feel discomposed as the recollection of their 
stormy parting flashed across his mind, and the impossibility of 
confiding to his cousin that she was the direct cause of it. “Oh, 
she’s all right as far as bodily health goes, but was suffering from a 
little pain in her temper when I left,” he said, striving to speak 
lightly. 

“ Poor child! Is she still as impetuous as ever? I hope that, un- 
der the influence of your — under your influence, she would have 
calmed down into a staid and sober matron.” 

“ She’s a long way off that, I’m afraid; but I say, Psyche, if you 
could manage to come and stay with us, it would do her all the good 
in the world. An ounce of good example is worth a hundred- 
weight of precepts, and I should like it too, awfully.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that at present,” she replied, hurriedly. 
“There’s your father to nurse — and then they’ll want me at home.” 

“ Well, we will talk about it later on, but I don’t mean to let you 
off. I regard you as in some sense responsible for our wedded hap- 
piness, as we are both jmur proteges,” said Vere, gayly. “You see, 
this comes of being so unselfish and good-natured — you’re bound to 
be imposed upon, ” 

“We’d better go down, they’ll be waiting dinner for us,” said the 
girl, avoiding a direct reply and leading the way to the dining- 
room. 

In the course of the afternoon Vere was naturally subjected to a 
minute cross-examination as to his proceedings during his term of 
banishment, and his sisters expressed the utmost curiosity with re- 
gard to Carmen. 

“I can’t imagine you a married man, Yere,” said Mrs. Compton, 
laughing; “ I always thought you were cut out for an old bachelor. 
How did it come to pass? Did she ask you?” 

“You’ve gone through it yourself, and ought to know,” replied 
Vere. “Did you ask Compton? It sounds suspiciously as if you 
-did.” 

“Of course she did, my boy! At least she asked me to ask her — 
didn’t you, Bessie?” said the captain, maliciously. 

“Don’t be so silly, Horace— as if any one in their senses would 
.trouble to run $fter such as you, You worried me to death with 


100 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


your entreaties, and I said yes just for the sake of peace and quie- 
tude,” replied his wife, with assumed asperity. “ But really, Yere, 
it must have been rather a trial making love in a foreign tongue.” 

‘ 4 My dear child, the language of love is the language of the heart 
and eyes, and is common to all nationalities,” remarked the captain, 
sententiously. “I remember when I -was- quartered at Valetta 
making violent love to a pretty little Maltese girl, and we got on 
famously, although I couldn’t speak a word of her lingo. Ah me! 
What eyes those southern women have !” 

“ I say, Yere, you’ll have to be careful how you bring your bride 
into the neighborhood of this Don Juan,” chimed in Charlie; “he’s 
utterly shameless — boasting of his conquests before his wife. ” 

“Oh, there’s no danger. Horace is like the lustrous eyes of the 
southern beauties about whom he raves — he says a great deal more 
than he means,” said Mrs. Compton, with a reproving glance at 
her irrepressible husband. In reality they w r ere a most devoted 
couple, and fondly attached to each other; but they frequently. in- 
dulged in these little public sparring matches, which amused with- 
out deceiving any one. 

“ I am quite looking forward to making Carmen’s acquaintance,” 
remarked Mary Danvers to her brother : ‘ ‘ she must be very beauti- 
ful, from what Psyche says.” 

‘ * I hope to bring her over in the spring if tlie old gentleman can 
be induced to overlook the fact of her being a foreigner. But you’ll 
have to rub up your French against her visit. She is such a lazy 
child. I have not been able to persuade her to learn to speak Eng- 
lish properly,” replied Yere. 

“Father won’t understand her, then, nor mother.” 

“I shall have to devote my mind to a serious course of tuition 
on my return. But I want to persuade Psyche to go back with me 
and relieve me of my task. By-the-way, what time does the post 
go out? I ought to send Carmen a line to acquaint her of my safe 
arrival.” 

“You’re too late to-day. Letters for the night mails have to be 
posted before noon.” 

“I’ll write to her all the same, and get it off my conscience,” said 
Yere. 

.Accordingly, after taking a stroll round the estate, in company 
with his brother-in-law and cousin, he left his companions in the 
stables busily engaged discussing the merits of the various steeds, 
and retired to the morning-room to indite his letter to his wife. 

The events of the last twenty-four hours had tended to dwarf the 
significance of what had seemed to him at the time a very serious 
disagreement. And although, when he recalled the mutinous ob- 
stinacy with which Carmen had repulsed his advances towards a 
reconciliation, a pang of anxious misgiving shot through his heart, 
he still hoped that, on reflection, she must have perceived the 
groundlessness of her jealousy, and would by now be only desirous 
of owning her fault and obtaining his forgiveness. 

‘ ‘ I can’t imagine what can have put such an idea into the child’s 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


101 


head,” he thought. And this reflection led him to a closer analysis 
of his own sentiments towards his favorite cousin than he had ever 
yet seemed fit to attempt. 

The idea of being in love with Psyche, in the sense of wishing to 
make her his wife, had never before entered his brain. They had 
known one another so long, had always been such fast friends and 
intimate allies, and more particularly since the time of his banish- 
ment from home, Psyche had assumed so completely the character 
of a devoted sister — that he had never dreamed of regarding her in 
any other light than that of a good angel to whom Providence had 
assigned the care of his well-being. Of course he loved her with a 
love that was the outcome of heartfelt gratitude and an admiration 
bordering on veneration for all her noble qualities. She had always 
been his ideal of what perfection in the opposite sex might mean. 
He could imagine no happier method of passing through life than 
with such a friend and companion always at his side. And when 
he came to ask himself how it was that, entertaining these beliefs 
as part of his religion, he had never attempted to rouse within him- 
self or cultivate in her the knowledge that her love was a necessity 
to his complete happiness, he was quite at a loss for a satisfactory 
answer. 

“ I suppose we were too intimate at first, and too completely sepa- 
rated latterly. Then, too, she never could have cared for me in that 
way. So, perhaps, it’s as well as it is ; but the man who succeeds in 
gaining her love and winning her for his wife will be a lucky fel- 
low.” With this reflection, he dismissed the train of thought which 
he had been following up with an almost involuntary assiduity, and 
addressed himself to the less pleasing duty before him. 

Fault-finding and scolding comes naturally to some people; but 
Yere was not one of these. When he was angered, he was at no 
pains to conceal his displeasure; but he was incapable of nursing 
his wrath, and of dealing it out in small doses over an unlimited 
period. Yet, in this case, he felt that, to condone the offence before 
the culprit showed some outward signs of contrition, would be to 
lay himself open to future attacks of the same unpleasant descrip- 
tion. The secret mistrust of his honor and affection that Carmen 
evinced, had opened his eyes to the folly of the act which he had 
committed in marrying a girl whose disposition and ways of thought 
were so entirely discordant with his own. His heart sank within 
him when he contemplated a life-long existence passed in an atmos- 
phere of mutual suspicion and dislike, for how could his affection 
withstand many attacks of the kind? while her love for him must 
have sunk to its lowest ebb before she could have brought herself to 
think so badly of him, much less to confess it. Then, as he mourned 
over his lost happiness— the memory of his wife’s winning graces, 
and the thousand little ways and looks and sayings indicative of the 
deepest attachment, with which up to the very minute of her out- 
break she had charmed his imagination, rose before him. Surely 
these, and the more formal protestations of undying love which she 
was ever ready to lavish upon him in her softer moods, could not 


102 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


have been assumed? Rather, let him conclude that the offensive 
words were the outcome of a fit of childish petulance— words of 
which she scarcely understood the full import when she uttered 
them, and for which her sense of feminine dignity alone prevented 
her from offering immediate reparation. 

Vere readily adopted the consolation which this theory carried 
with it. Perhaps he was to blame for judging her too harshly, and 
expecting too much, and too speedy an assimilation to his own par- 
ticular ways of life and thought. He must have patience, he must 
give her time ; and if she loved him, as he believed she did, all 
might yet be well. 

Accordingly, he penned her a little friendly note, acquainting her 
with the details of his journey and his father’s sad condition, and 
carefully avoiding all reference to the subject of their dispute, and 
concluding thus: 

“I’m afraid you won’t get this till Saturday morning, as I was 
too tired to think about writing when I first came in, and stupidly 
missed the post; but I am sending you a telegram to announce my 
safe arrival, so you will have had no cause for anxiety. I hardly 
know how my father’s illness will turn, or how long I may be 
obliged to stay. You will readily understand that, being here, I 
cannot leave till the old gentleman is out of danger and I have ful- 
filled the object of my visit. Be assured that I will return as soon 
as possible. Remember me kindly to Mademoiselle Delaforet, who 
I presume is with you now — unless you have decided to pay her 
a visit at the Pension. I think I would advise the latter course — if 
you have not already adopted it — in view of my prolonged absence. 
You will find it less dull than at Beaurivage. 

“Ever your loving husband, 

“Vere Danvers.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“She never told her love, 

But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, 

Feed on her damask cheek.” — Shakespeare. 

One day succeeded another, and still Mr. Danvers lay in a semi- 
unconscious condition. But although his mental powers remained 
dormant, he was making satisfactory progress in other respects. In 
spite of his advanced age, his vigorous constitution, and the reserve 
of strength engendered by a life passed in active and healthful pur- 
suits helped to minimize the effects of a mischance which must have 
proved fatal to a more delicate organism. 

The medical men were agreed that, so long as he could be kept 
quiet and free from excitement, there was no immediate danger to 
be apprehended. Nevertheless, as they added significantly, it would 
not be prudent to “halloo until they were out of the wood.” 

This verdict, while relieving Vere of his first acute anxiety, natu- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


103 


rally kept him in a state of uncertainty as to his future plans and 
movements. 

Although life at Danverfield was necessarily quiet and unevent- 
ful, it formed an agreeable contrast to the turmoil and bustle of the 
previous week, and made the enforced prolongation of his absence 
from Carmen less irksome than perhaps it should have been, from a 
marital point of view. 

Carmen had not replied to his letter ; but that did not cause him 
any particular uneasiness. She was always a bad correspondent, 
and in all probability was still brooding over her imaginary wrongs, 
and debating in her own mind whether to surrender unconditionally 
or to stand upon her dignity a little longer. Half an hour’s coaxing 
and a few peace-offerings (which he would take back with him) 
would restore the pretty, wayward child to her wonted good-temper. 

A subject of more anxious thought was the growing suspicion 
that he had inadvertently given Psyche some cause for offence. 

Unquestionably she was avoiding him, and he determined to find 
out the reason of her altered demeanor. 

At last, after an infinity of trouble — for, without openly appear- 
ing to shun him, the girl managed to occupy all her time with her 
self-imposed duties — Yere succeeded in catching her alone. 

“Can’t you spare me a few moments, Psyche?” he asked, as his 
cousin entered the library, where he was sitting, and, having secured 
a book, was about to retire. 

“Certainly, if you like, although I can’t stop long; uncle may 
want me,” she replied, pausing irresolutely. 

“Mother has just gone up to him,” said Yere, determined not to 
be put off, and endeavoring vainly to draw her into a confidential 
chat, such as they used to enjoy in former days. Then, for the first 
time, he realized how completely she had lost her old frank openness 
of speech and manner. Her evident constraint reacted upon him- 
self, and he sought refuge in generalities. 

“ Do you think my father will be able to see me soon — say within 
the next day or two?” he inquired. “You see, time is running on, 
and I really ought to return to Beaurivage. I told Carmen I should 
not be absent more than a week, and it is already ten days since I 
left.” 

“I hardly know what to say,” replied the girl. “ Uncle seemed 
much better yesterday, and he slept fairly well all night. The doc- 
tor says he may be considered quite out of danger now ; but when I 
mentioned your anxiety to see him, he said that he dare not sanction 
it on his own responsibility, as the least excitement might bring on a 
relapse.” 

“What’s to be done, then? I can’t stay on here forever,” said 
Vere, gloomily. “Carmen will be taking it into her head that I 
never mean to return.” 

“But, surely, if you write and tell her how you are placed — ” 

“ I have written, and she has not deigned to reply. I can’t think 
what has come to her, though I suppose she is all right, as she is 
with Mademoiselle Delaforet.” 


104 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Shall I write to Mademoiselle Matliilde?” 

“I won’t trouble you. I’ll do it myself to-day. It’s not a bad 
notion. But don’t you think my father might be told that I am 
here?” 

“I’ll ask Doctor Metcalf when he comes; or, you might ask lnm 
yourself,” replied Psyche, rising. 

“ Where are you going? Don’t run away yet. I have seen noth- 
ing of you since I have been in the house, and I want to talk to you 
about coming to stay with us,” said Vere, going over to the fireplace 
and leaning his shoulders against the mantle-shelf. 

“I thought you would want to write your letter, and I was going 
to lie down for an hour. You see, I was up with uncle nearly all 
night,” she answered, moving towards the door. 

“Of course, I forgot. You must be quite worn out. Still, I 
should like you to stop a few minutes. My letter will keep, and I 
want to talk to you. I may not see you again alone before I leave.” 

The girl hesitated a moment, and then, withdrawing her hand from 
the door-handle, replied gently, but with an air of weariness, “Oh, 
I’ll stay as long as you like — at least till I’m wanted up-stairs;” and 
slowly crossing the room, seated herself at the window. 

“ Psyche, my dear girl, you are not well; you are overdoing your- 
self with this nursing business,” said Yere, compassionately, as he 
remarked how pale and tired she looked in the cold gray light of the 
November morning. 

“ Oh, I’m all right, thanks. Nursing suits me; it’s my vocation ;” 
and she tried to summon a smile. 

“ I don’t think it. Your vocation is to be happy, and you oughtn’t 
to be allowed to devote your whole life to others like this, at the sac- 
rifice of your own comfort and pleasure. I may say it because I 
know what you have done for me, and what you are doing for my 
father.” 

“It pleases me, and I hope doesn’t hurt others. Chacun & son 
gout,” said Psyche, simply. 

“That I firmly believe,” Yere answered, warmly, crossing over to 
her and taking her hand in his; “and I, for one, have every reason 
to bless your sweet unselfishness. But I don’t see why you should 
injure your health into the bargain.” 

“ What makes you think I am not well?” asked the girl, in a low 
voice, averting her eyes and gently striving to withdraw her hand. 

“ Well, to begin with, you don’t look it; and then — I hardly know 
how to put it — but you seem more silent — not so jolly and lively as 
you used to be.” 

“You forget that I have advanced in years. You surely can’t 
expect a grown-up woman to dance about like a skittish girl. It is 
four years since we played together the merry pranks that you seem 
to regret,” she replied, with a momentary gleam of merriment. 

“It’s not four years, nor forty years, that have altered you — as 
something has done. What it is I can’t say. Look here, Psyche, 
at the risk of offending my dearest friend and warmest ally, I must 
have it off my mind. You’re not the same to me as you used to be. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


105 


Now, what’s the reason of it?” And Yere took both her hands and 
looked straight into her eyes. 

A deep flush spread swiftly over the girl’s face. For a moment 
she raised her eyes to his with an imploring expression, like a hunted 
deer brought to bay. She seemed about to speak, then checked her- 
self. A deathly pallor chased the color from her cheeks, and starting 
up, she cried, as if in pain, “You hurt me, Yere; let go my hands.” 

“ What is it? What have I done?” he asked, anxiously and some- 
what bewildered. 

“ It’s nothing; only your ring squeezed my finger,” Psyche replied, 
striving to speak unconcernedly. 

“ Let me look. By Jove, it’s bleeding! It’s that wretched filigree 
business that Carmen gave me when we were engaged. I’m always 
scratching people with it. I’m awfully sorry; let me bind it up for 
you.” 

“No, thank you; it’s all right; I’ll do it up-stairs,” and without 
waiting his reply she hurried out of the room. 

A tiny scratch like that hardly seemed sufficient warrant for such 
a demonstration — particularly from one who had been accustomed 
to play with boys, and take her share of buffets and rough usage 
with masculine fortitude. But Yere attributed it to a low state of 
health, and determined before he left to speak seriously to his moth- 
er on the subject. 

Meanwhile, in the privacy of her own apartment, Psyche, with 
flushed cheeks and beating heart, was severely taking herself to task 
for her loss of self-command. Before Yere’s arrival she had thor- 
oughly considered and schooled herself in the line of conduct which 
was to guide her in his presence. She would be friendly — sympa- 
thetic even, if the occasion demanded it — and would let him see that 
absence had not in any way tended to diminish the cousinly interest 
that she had always felt for and expressed in him. But in self-de- 
fence she would, as far as possible, avoid that personal contact and 
a renewal of those tender confidences which in times gone by had 
exercised such a sweet and dangerous influence over her mind. Not 
but what she thought that the warmer affection (which, to her shame, 
she now knew had prompted her actions, and which she even now 
hesitated to acknowledge under its true name) was, if not extinguish- 
ed, at any rate so carefully repressed that there was no danger of 
its peeping forth unadvisedly, and of betraying the secret which she 
would rather die than confess. 

But the task was harder than she had imagined. To see him, to 
speak with him, to feel the warm pressure of his hand and the kindly 
sympathy in his voice, and to be forced to restrain the wild prompt- 
ings of her heart, which bade her own her delight in his presence, 
■was almost more than she could bear. She felt that she could not 
trust herself to play the character of an affectionate cousin without 
the risk of overdoing the part. And so she elected to keep him at 
arm’s-length, and let him think her changed, cold, capricious — what 
he would — anything rather than the weak, unhappy fool that she 
was. 


106 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


His persistence, however, was bidding fair to break down the frail 
barriers behind which lay her trembling, hopeless love. And then 
she shuddered to think of the consequences. Either he would open- 
ly scorn and despise her, or he would pity and grieve for her, while 
marvelling at her unmaidenly boldness. In any case*she would 
lose his respect and esteem, to say nothing of irretrievably forfeiting 
her own. 

The case was desperate, and required drastic treatment. She 
must invent some excuse for quitting Danverfield immediately, and 
once free from the spell of his presence, nothing should induce her 
to again subject herself to a like danger until, by some means or 
other, she had torn out the canker from her heart, and could meet 
him face to face without misgiving or emotion. 

Fortunately for Psyche, the necessity for this extreme step — which 
she clearly foresaw might lead to awkward surmises and question- 
ings — was obviated before she had time to decide on her course of 
action. 

The reply which Yere received to his letter addressed to Made- 
moiselle Delaforet contained intelligence so disquieting that he de- 
cided to return immediately to France without waiting to see his 
father, who was still pronounced too weak to bear the excitement of 
an interview. 

In acquainting his family with his newly formed resolve, Yere was 
careful to minimize the importance of the circumstances which hast- 
ened his departure. “Carmen was not very well, and was natur- 
ally anxious for his return. Besides, he was neglecting his work, 
and it would be so easy to run over again in a few weeks’ time, when 
his father was quite restored,” he said, by way of explanation to his 
mother. But to Psyche he was more explicit. The effect of her 
stern self-communings and relentless introspection had been to re- 
store in some measure the self-command which the girl had gone so 
near losing at their previous interview. And although she felt nerv- 
ous and ill at ease as she followed Yere into the squire’s business 
room (whither he led the way as being out of the beat of the rest of 
the household), no sooner was she aware that he was in trouble and 
required her advice, than she banished “self” from her mind and 
addressed herself to the task of deciphering and elucidating Made- 
moiselle Delaforet’s somewhat vague and mysterious communication 
with all her old energy and cool-headedness. 

“I suppose we must allow something for the old lady’s flowers of 
speech,” she remarked, as she replaced the letter in its envelope aud 
handed it back to Yere. “But apparently the fact remains that Car- 
men is out of sorts and unhappy, and I think you are quite wise to 
hurry back at once. I can’t think what can have upset her so. She 
knew that you were bound to come alone, and that your detention 
here was unavoidable.” 

“I ought to have told you, perhaps, that we had a bit of a tiff be- 
fore parting; but I thought it would have blown over before now,” 
said Yere, moodily. 

“She’s such a spoiled ehild, and so impetuous, that it doesn’t do 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


107 


to interpret either her words or her actions too literally. But it seems 
strange that she refuses to accept Mademoiselle Delaforet’s kind in- 
vitation, ^and persists in remaining at the chalet alone.” 

‘ ‘ It’s stranger still that she should have had the vicomte to dinner 
in my absence, and that a man calling himself a gentleman should 
have been guilty of such a breach of les convenances , particularly af- 
ter my letter. He wants kicking!” 

“ He can’t have received it, surely? Then, too, you see, there was 
no great harm, since Mademoiselle Clarisse was present,” said Psy- 
che, anxiously noticing the suppressed wrath in her cousin’s voice. 

“ It isn’t so much that I imagine any actual harm was either in- 
tended or committed,” he replied, bitterly, “but I don’t approve of 
my wife making herself the talk of the entire neighborhood, to say 
nothing of openly disobeying my instructions.” 

“ Let’s hope it’s not so bad as you think. And Yere, you won’t 
think me interfering; but don’t forget that Carmen is an orphan, 
and has no one to shield and guide her but you,” cried Psyche, im- 
ploringly. “Poor child, she’s not like other girls who have had a 
mother’s care and love ; and though she’s quick-tempered and thought- 
less, she’s naturally warm - hearted and affectionate, and loves you 
dearly, 1 am sure.” 

‘ ‘ I wish she had adopted some other method of displaying her af- 
fection. However, you needn’t alarm yourself — I have no intention 
of being too hard uponlier — only, she must learn to obey as well as 
to love; for if I pull one way, and she the other, the matrimonial 
bond will stand in danger of coming asunder.” Then, after a pause, 
Yere continued, in a lighter tone, “ You needn’t tell mother and the 
others all this. It’s no use washing one’s dirty linen more in public 
than one can help.” 

“You may depend upon me. When do you start?” 

“ To-morrow morning early. You will let me know how my fa- 
ther goes on? I don’t half like leaving home without seeing him.” 

“ It is tiresome, but it can’t be helped. Perhaps you may be able 
to bring Carmen with you next time ; at any rate, I’ll do my best to 
arrange matters,” said Psyche, moving towards the door. 

“ Thank you for all you have done, and are doing for us. I don’t 
know where I should be without my trusty ally and counsellor. I 
shall see you again before I start?” inquired Yere, following her and 
taking her hand. 

Psyche’s eyes drooped under his warm and affectionate gaze. 
“Yes, certainly, I’ll come down to see you off. I mustn’t stay any 
longer now, I have to relieve guard up-stairs;” and gently withdraw- 
ing her hand, she quitted the room with a feeling of relief at having 
passed through the ordeal so satisfactorily. 


108 


If love be love. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ So farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear, 

Farewell Remorse, all Good to me is lost ; 

Evil, be thou my Good.” — M ilton. 

The mingled agony of rage and despair which filled Carmen’s 
heart when, in spite of commands and entreaties, Yere persisted in 
carrying out his intention of journeying to England alone, gave 
place after a while to a trembling dread lest he had taken his de- 
parture for good and all. Never before had she known him look so 
stern, nor address her so harshly, as when she strove to justify her 
own conduct by clothing in words the confused feelings of jealousy 
and suspicion which were rending her very soul. 

What if she had totally extinguished the dying embers of his love 
in her attempts to rekindle them? Why had she not humbled her- 
self before him, retracting her words, swearing that black was white 
— anything so as to have kept him at her side and away from the 
evil influences of her dreaded rival? For in this light had the in- 
dulgence of her insensate imaginings led hereto regard Psyche. It 
was for her no longer a matter of doubt or Question, but an accom- 
plished fact, that she was supplanted in her husband’s affection by 
her former dearest friend ; and in her misery a thousand wild schemes 
of revenge flashed through her excited brain. 

For hours after the sound of the retreating wheels of the vehicle 
which bore him to the station had died out of her ears, Carmen re- 
mained locked in the little parlor — now restlessly pacing up and 
down, now with her pale and tear-stained face glued against the 
window-pane, in the vain expectation that he might relent and re- 
turn, and now sinking hopeless, and bitterly weeping, on to the 
nearest chair, or even on to the hard oaken floor. 

Several times during the morning Louise knocked at the door, . 
and implored her young mistress to calm herself and let her in. 
Carmen remained obdurate, vouchsafing no answer, and the woman 
returned to her kitchen more than half alarmed at the fury of the 
storm which she had helped to evoke, and now seemed powerless to 
allay. 

“Mon Dieu!”she mentally ejaculated. “What a to-do about 
nothing! As if any man living was worth all this fuss. Ah, my 
dear young lady, when your husband shows himself in his true 
colors and treats you as mine did me, it will be time enough for de- 
spair. But women are fools when they love — and men, bah! they 
are always brutes. ” 

Possibly Louise believed herself to be actuated by a tender affec- 
tion for her young mistress when she counselled resistance to her 
husband’s commands. But underlying this was a feeling of antago- 
nism and antipathy to Yere, firstly because he was a man, and as 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


109 


such a natural enemy of her sex; secondly because he was a for- 
eigner; and lastly because she believed that he regarded her with 
distrust and suspicion. Naturally narrow-minded and vindictive, 
the intensity of her own grief led her to view the happiness of others 
as a personal insult. Having from the first determined that Vere 
was to prove faithless and untrue, she had set to work with malicious 
delight to square the facts with her theories. Thus, her professed 
regard for Carmen did not in any way interfere with her scheme for 
utilizing M. de Malsherbes as an instrument for avenging on Ycre 
the wrongs she herself had suffered at the hands of her own hus- 
band. 

As the morning wore on a carriage came slowly toiling up the hill, 
and stopped in front of the chalet. Instantly Carmen unbarred the 
door and precipitated herself into the little front garden in the belief 
that Yere had returned. Great, therefore, was her disappointment 
when the youngest Mademoiselle Delaforet descended and advanced 
to meet her with a gay smile. 

‘ ‘ I am come to take you back to the Pension, or to stay with you 
if you prefer it,” cried Mademoiselle Clarisse. “ Which is it to be?” 

Then, noticing Carmen’s haggard and dishevelled appearance, she 
continued, in a sympathetic voice, “What, still in tears for the ab- 
sent one ! Come, Carmen, let us be brave. It is not for long, and I 
will be your protector;” and linking her arm through her friend’s, 
she led her into the house. 

After many entreaties she managed to extract from the weeping 
girl a more or less confused account of her woes, and then proceed- 
ed to apply the balm of sympathy without stopping to inquire too 
closely into the rights of the case. 

‘ ‘ Console yourself, cherie. Love without its quarrels is like veal 
without salt. And probably ce mauvais sujet is now suffering ago- 
nies of remorse. See! You and I will put our heads together and 
award some punishment meet for his transgression. It will help to 
pass the time till his return,” said Mademoiselle Clarisse, jokingly. 

Carmen considered a moment. The storm had spent itself, and the 
mere act of unburdening her mind of its troubles brought relief. 

“ Swear you will help me to punish him,” she cried, eagerly. 

“ Certainly, if you can prove that he deserves it,” replied her 
friend, still smiling. 

“ You shall judge for yourself. Listen.” 

“ Pardon, cherie ; but had we not better first decide whether I re- 
main here, or you return with me. My sac de nuit is in the carriage. 
Shall we take it out, or put yours in?” 

“Stay here with me,” cried Carmen. “I am too unhappy to 
meet strangers. ” 

Mademoiselle Clarisse laughed softly to herself at the intense 
earnestness with which the girl invested the situation, but she knew 
her too well to attempt to contradict her in her present mood; so, 
after dismissing the driver with a verbal message for her sister, she 
devoted her mind, not unsuccessfully, to diverting the conversion 
to more cheerful topics. 


110 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Worn out with the day’s excitement, Carmen retired early to rest, 
and woke in the morning refreshed in body and mind, and with a 
disposition to regard matters in a more cheerful light than she had 
deemed it possible on the previous day. 

At nineteen our sorrows do not weigh so heavily on us as in later 
life, and, after all, youth has so many consolations. The superabun- 
dant vitality and energy which, in a nervously excitable tempera- 
ment like Carmen’s, magnifies mole-hills into mountains suffice to 
carry the imagination soaring above its self-created obstructions, and 
lead it to construct its theories of happiness on the same exaggerated 
basis as its former griefs — once the rebound has commenced. 

Almost at the same hour that Yere had arrived, weary and half 
frozen, at his journey’s end, Carmen, standing in front of her look- 
ing-glass, in her cosey little bedroom, was sunning herself in the pale 
rays of the Day-giver, who was successfully struggling to dispel the 
cold morning mist, which, under cover of the darkness, had mounted 
slowly and silently from the river below. The hardy forest pines 
recked little of frost and the fast approaching winter, and to show 
their independence had bravely affronted the soft, white, insidious 
foe, standing forth, draped in spangled sheen, like a regiment of 
giants clad in bejewelled armor. Down in the valley the fog still 
held its own ; but as the sun’s attacks grew more and more vigorous, 
one misty battalion after another was rolled back and dispersed, and 
the result of the conflict was no longer doubtful, while on the higher 
ground, where the chalet stood, birds and beasts were already sound- 
ing their joyful peans of their champion’s victory. 

Carmen gazed entranced for a few moments on the beauties of 
Nature. Then, as she caught the reflection of her own form in the 
glass, she feasted her eyes on what, in her opinion, was beauty in a 
higher stage of perfection. 

A bright flush still mantled on her cheeks, warm from the kiss of 
“Nature’s soft nurse,” and in the depths of her lovely eyes lingered 
the soft, dreamy expression of a consciousness still tinged with the 
reminiscences of its late excursion into dream-land — a happy smile, 
which owed its inception as much to the delight of being as to the 
enjoyment of her own transcendant beauty, played around her lips. 

“If Yere could only see me now, surely I should have nothing 
to fear from any rival,” she exclaimed, triumphantly, half aloud. 
Then bending forward, with a childlike impulse of gratitude to her- 
self for being so charming, she kissed her own reflection, and pro- 
ceeded to address it in a thousand little terms of endearment. 

The entrance of Louise with her cup of chocolate put a stop to 
this delightful entertainment. But the feelings of relief and security 
to which it gave expression remained, and displayed themselves still 
further in the care which she bestowed upon her toilet. “Who 
knows?” she argued; “perhaps he has only pretended to go away, to 
frighten me, and will return all of a sudden. Well, if he does, he 
will find me prepared.” And again she nodded ioyouslv at her 
dainty likeness. 

Louise was delighted with the change in her mistress’s mood, for, 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Ill 


while relieving her mind of some anxiety, it led her to believe that 
Carmen did not really care for her absent husband, and would read- 
ily fall ill with her scheme for avenging the wrongs of her sex on 
the person of the perfidious Englishman. However, she thought 
it wiser not to revive the subject too soon, and contented herself 
with informing madame how charming she looked, much to Car- 
men’s satisfaction. The girl loved praise from whatever source. 
Indeed, the secret of this woman’s influence over her, and also that 
of M. de Malsherbes lay in the fact that they were always ready to 
gratify her craving for admiration, which Yere, from conscientious 
motives, persistently refused to do. 

Mademoiselle Clarisse, too, accustomed as she was to her ex- pupil’s 
changes of front, was fairly puzzled on finding the Niobe of the 
previous evening transformed into a smiling Hebe at so short a no- 
tice. However, being herself a light-hearted, laughter-loving soul, 
she congratulated herself on the metamorphosis, and soon abandoned 
the commiserating tone which she had thought it fitting to adopt at 
their first meeting. 

The ladies passed the day in confidential chit-chat, and Carmen 
expressed to her friend her firm belief that Yere had not gone be- 
yond Paris, and would return before nightfall. In the general boule- 
versement of the previous day all recollection of the projected din- 
ner-party had escaped Carmen’s memory, and neither she nor Yere 
had thought to countermand the extra delicacies which had been or- 
dered in anticipation of the festive occasion. Consequently, when 
Louise entered to announce the arrival of the supplies from Boisy- 
la-Reine, Carmen broke into a peal of merry laughter. ‘ ‘ It’s like 
the king’s supper in the parable. The feast is prepared, and there 
are no guests. What shall we do? We cannot send the things 
back.” 

‘ ‘ If, as you expect, your husband returns to-night, we can make 
a feast in his honor, ” suggested Mademoiselle Clarisse. 

‘ ‘ That would be charming. But it is a pity M. de Malsherbes 
and the others are not coming when all is ready.” 

‘ ‘ Why not invite M. le Yicomte all the same ?” observed the wily 
Louise. “ Surely madame is at liberty to entertain her friends, even 
if monsieur does choose to absent himself. What use otherwise is 
it to be a married lady?” 

“I don’t think it would look well,” said Carmen, regretful- 
ly; “ though it is done constantly in the beau monde. M. de Mal- 
sherbes told me so himself.” 

Mademoiselle Clarisse shook her head doubtfully. “ It would be 
great fun. I am dying to make the nearer acquaintance of the vi- 
comte. But your husband would not like it. It may be comme il 
faut in his world, but not in ours.” 

“What, not with mademoiselle to do propriety?” asked Louise, 
sarcastically. 

“It would serve Yere right if he doesn’t come back like a good 
boy,” cried Carmen, warming to the scheme because her friend op 
posed it. 


112 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Why not let me prepare the dinner for three?” said Louise. “ If 
monsieur returns, well; if not, we must take steps to fill his place.” 

“The notion is good!” laughed Mademoiselle Clarisse, who re- 
garded the affair as a joke; “ but I doubt if Monsieur Yere would 
approve of the proposed substitution.” 

“Well, he must take the consequences of his obstinacy,” exclaim- 
ed Carmen, with a flash of temper. ‘ ‘ The fault is his, not mine. ” 

“Well, well, let us wait and see what arrives. You are sure to 
hear from your husband before evening,” said her friend, soothingly. 
Whereupon Louise retired with the determination of preparing the 
feast, and of securing the presence of M. de Malsherbes as the guest 
of the evening by some means or another. 

Apart from the gratification of her personal spite against Yere, 
she felt that to do so would be a great diplomatic victory; since it 
would not only give her a stronger hold on her young mistress, but 
would earn her the gratitude of the vicomte. True, he was reputed 
neither wealthy nor generous; but then love will loosen the purse- 
strings of the veriest skinflint. 

While busying herself in her little kitchen with the pros and cons 
of her scheme, Louise heard the click of the latch of the gate which 
opened from the diminutive back garden into the adjoining park, 
and looking out expectantly, beheld the slow approach of Monsieur 
Bernard, who filled the combined offices of steward, valet, footman, 
gardener, and general factotum at the cMteau. 

“Bon jour, Monsieur Bernard,” she cried, effusively, as the old 
man appeared at the open door, looking very dignified, notwithstand- 
ing that he wore a blouse and sabots, and was carrying a basket. 

‘ ‘ What happy chance brings you here to-day ?” 

“ Service des dames, madame, and the wishes of M. le Yicomte,” 
replied the messenger, gazing loftily up at the ceiling. He had a 
slight bowing acquaintance with Louise, having met her walking in 
the park or the forest on several occasions ; but he felt that, in his 
official capacity as ambassador from the chateau to the chalet, it 
would not be seemly to encourage any attempts at familiarity. * 

“A la bonne heure ! I was just longing to see you,” exclaimed 
Louise, in no wise daunted. “And what have you brought for us? 
Something nice, I’ll be bound.” 

“ M. le Vicomte presents his compliments to Monsieur Danvers, 
and begs the acceptance by madame, his charming wife, of these 
grapes and flowers. We thought that, as madame entertains to- 
night, they might be acceptable, although we regret that, being so 
late in the season, they are but poor specimens of our produce. A 
month back we could have offered madame something; more worth v 
of her.” 

“Oh, how charming! Madame will be delighted, ’’said Louise, 
peeping into the basket, and debating in her own mind whether she 
should enlighten the vicomte’s evident ignorance of the departure 
of Carmen’s husband, or leave him to find it out for himself. 

“Am I to convey back any reply to M. le Yicomte?” inquired 
Monsieur Bernard, with a shade of impatience. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


113 


“ Only madame’s grateful thanks. I believe she is taking a siesta 
now, so I will not disturb her; and monsieur is not at home. But, 
as M. le Yicomte dines here this evening, madame will be able to 
express her thanks in person, and that, I am sure, will give him 
more pleasure than the most eloquent messages — hein, Monsieur 
Bernard?” she replied, having decided to let matters take their own 
course, since that pointed in the direction of her wishes. 

“ I do not profess to interpret the sentiments of M. le Yicomte; I 
simply content myself with carrying out my instructions, ” said the 
old man, stiffly. ‘ ‘ Having accomplished these, I have the honor, 
madame, of wishing you a good-day;” whereupon he took his de- 
parture. 

Later on in the afternoon Yere’s telegram arrived, and caused the 
upset of all Carmen’s fondly cherished hopes. In her first disap- 
pointment she was disposed to abandon herself once more to moping 
and melancholy, and Louise, who had taken care to be present when 
the message was read, judged this a fitting opportunity for present- 
ing the offering from M. de Malsherbes. 

“You say he is coming to-night? Then Yere cannot have writ- 
ten to him after all. How very embarrassing — I am not well enough 
to receive visitors. I must send and put him off,” cried Carmen, 
despondently. 

“ Then the poor man will have no dinner!” exclaimed Mademoi- 
selle Clarisse, prompted by Louise. “Don’t you think, dear, that, 
under the circumstances, we had better let him come? It would 
seem so rude to tuVn him away in the eleventh hour.” 

“The dinner will be exquisite— fit for a prince; that I’ll guaran- 
tee,” chimed in Louise. “But, of course, if madame is afraid that 
monsieur might scold her — ” And she gave an expressive shrug. 

“Scold me, indeed!” cried Carmen, her eyes flashing fire. “It 
is rather the other way. Understand, both of you, if I do not re- 
ceive M. de Malsherbes, it is because I do not choose to, and not 
because I do not dare.” 

“Well, perhaps it will be wiser to ask him to defer his visit. 
People might talk,” observed Mademoiselle Clarisse, cautiously. 

“They are talking already — of monsieur’s sudden desertion, ” re- 
plied Louise, in a loud undertone, as she left the room. 

“Is that true what she says?” asked Carmen, fiercely, turning to 
Mademoiselle Clarisse. 

“Is what true, dearest?” 

“You know. About what people say of me — that I’m deserted 
by my husband.” 

“ I have heard nothing, nor do I believe it,” said the other, sooth- 
ingly. ‘ * Of course, men have their business affairs, which they can- 
not always share with their wives. ” 

“And their love affairs too,” cried Carmen, with a sudden revival of 
her jealous fit. ‘ ‘ Listen, Clarisse. I believe this is all a lie — this busi- 
ness with his father. He has gone to see his former sweetheart.” 

“ Oh, Carmen, how can you talk so? I am sure your husband is 
the soul of honor.” 


8 


114 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Where love is concerned, a man’s honor counts for nothing. 
Louise says so, and she knows,” cried the girl, excitedly. 

“But, my dear child, what can a woman in her position know of 
the ways of gentlemen?” 

“Don’t talk to me. How, if he loved me, could he leave me alone 
like this? I will show him that if he can forget his duties, I, too, 
can forget mine. I will receive M. de Malsherbes, and if I can make 
Yere suffer some of the torments he has inflicted upon me, I shall be 
happy;” and Carmen, having lashed herself into a state of wild fury 
by the recital of her imaginary wrongs, dashed out of the salon and 
locked herself in her room. 

Poor Mademoiselle Clarisse was sorely perplexed. She did not 
know in the slightest how far Carmen’s suspicions were founded on 
fact; and even if, as she suspected, they were baseless, she had no 
authority to control her actions. All she could hope to do was to 
help the girl from committing an} r overt act of folly, and this end 
would be best attained by the avoidance of any open contradiction 
or attempts at dictation. 

Accordingly, she settled herself in one of the velvet-covered fau- 
teuils, and pulling out her embroidery with a deep sigh, fell to mus- 
ing on the mutability of human happiness. A few months ago — 
how she had envied Carmen. A handsome, good - tempered, well- 
bred husband; a home of her own — comfortable and well-ordered. 
If ever there was a marriage of pure romance and love, surely this 
was one. And now — well, Mademoiselle Clarisse felt that even her 
own state of old-maidenhood, with all its monotonous and wearying 
round of duties and cares, was preferable to that of wedded misery, 
and she took the opportunity of reading her own heart a little lecture 
on the folly of the romantic aspirations in which it still occasionally 
indulged. 

Presently Louise entered, and began to arrange the flowers and to 
set the salon in order. 

“Does not mademoiselle intend to change her dress? Dinner is 
for seven o’clock,” she remarked. 

“Is M. de Malsherbes coming, then, after all?” asked Mademoiselle 
Clarisse, arousing herself. 

“ Certainly; was he not invited?” 

“ And madame — is she dressing to receive him?” 

‘ ‘ I have been with madame this last half-hour. She will look ra- 
bissante, I promise you.” 

“I wish now he was not coming,” said Mademoiselle Delaforet. 
“It will be so embarrassing.” 

“Have no fear. Madame has plenty of courage when her mind 
is made up; and M. le Yicomte will have no eyes or ears but for 
her. Allez,” replied Louise with a triumphant grin. 

Mademoiselle Clarisse made no reply, but there was something in 
the woman’s tone and manner that grated against her feelings. 
French ladies— more especially in the provinces— are accustomed to 
a familiarity of address from their servants, and to their habit of in- 
teresting themselves in the affairs of their superiors; but Carmen’s 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


115 


bonne seemed to be actuated by some stronger motive than mere in- 
quisitiveness or love of talking, and Mademoiselle Clarisse had the 
unpleasant sensation that the woman regarded her as a tool or an 
accomplice in some nefarious project. In which supposition she 
was more nearly right than she actually imagined. 


CHAPTER XVIII. . 

“ Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues, 

Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.” 

Shakespeare. 

Punctually at the stroke of seven M. de Malsherbes made his en- 
try into the little salon where Carmen and Mademoiselle Clarisse sat 
ready to receive him. 

The former had devoted unusual attention to her toilet, and hers 
was a style of beauty that well repaid the trouble of careful adorn- 
ment. One large white camellia — which had formed a portion of 
the vicomte’s floral offering — glistened like a star in her blue-black 
tresses, another nestled in the front of her dress, presenting a vivid 
contrast between its own cold, snowy beauty and the warm, living 
tints of the bosom against which it rested. The excitement of the 
moment had banished all traces of her previous trouble, and lent a 
brilliancy to her eyes and a heightened color to her cheeks that ren- 
dered her absolutely dazzling and bewitching. At least so she ap- 
peared to the amorous vicomte, as, gibus in hand, he stood before 
her, confusedly muttering the conventional greetings, and wonder- 
ing how the possessor of so dangerously beautiful a wife could trust 
her for a moment out of his sight. 

What, then, was his surprise when Carmen, in a hesitating tone 
and with visible embarrassment of manner, began to apologize for 
her husband’s absence. In spite of her confident assertions, she was 
not without some doubts as to the strict propriety of her behavior, 
and now that the crucial moment had arrived, she dreaded lest the 
vicomte should think her bold and unladylike — little dreaming, in 
her ignorance of his sentiments towards her and of the ways of his 
world, that he would interpret her conduct as a direct encourage- 
ment to his passion. 

“My husband was obliged to start for England at a moment’s no- 
tice, and I can only suppose that, in the confusion and hurry of his 
departure, he omitted to let you know that our little party would 
have to be postponed,” she said, hurriedly, keeping her eyes the while 
fixed upon the ground and tapping the floor nervously with her little 
foot. 

Had she witnessed the gleam of triumph which shot through her 
listener’s eyes as he reflected that whatever her husband’s intentions 
might have been, she had expected him to come, it would in no wise 
have tended to restore her composure. But M. de Malsherbes was 
pot a young beginner, to frighten away the pretty bird he wished tg 


116 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


allure by too precipitate action, so he answered calmly, and in a tone 
of extreme politeness and deference, “No, I rejoice to say, I had no 
countermand from Monsieur Danvers. And grieved as I am to miss 
the pleasure of seeing him, I should have been a thousand times 
more unhappy had I been debarred from the delight of meeting you 
again, to which I have looked forward so anxiously.” 

Carmen took courage at these words. It was evident that she had 
nothing to reproach herself with, or so competent a judge of the 
bienseances would not offer her such distinct approval. Then, to 
complete her justification, she added, “ When your kind present and 
message reached me this afternoon, I was puzzled to know how to 
act. At first I thought of sending you a line to explain how I was 
situated and to ask you to defer your visit. But my friend, Made- 
moiselle Delaforet, urged that, under the circumstances, it might put 
you to some inconvenience, and so I decided not to disturb existing 
arrangements. I only hope that you will excuse the absence of a 
host, and not find our society insupportably dull;” and she looked 
up into his face with a charming, coquettish smile. 

M. de Malsherbes, more and more entranced, bowed low, with his 
hand over his heart. ‘ ‘ Ah, madame, ’ ’ he cried, ‘ ‘ you are mocking me. 
As though one could ever be dull with you. If I only dared to give 
utterance to my thoughts, I should say — ” But noticing in the girl’s 
face a shade of surprise and of incipient alarm, apparently called 
forth by the warmth of his expression, he wisely restrained himself, 
and, turning to Mademoiselle Delaforet, treated her to a high-flown 
panegyric on her kind intercession on his behalf, which served to 
soften down the pointedness of his too openly expressed admiration 
for Carmen, and to fill up the time until dinner was announced. 

Throughout the evening M. de Malsherbes bore the brunt of the 
conversation, which he addressed almost exclusively to his beautiful 
hostess. He felt himself decidedly en mine, and this was an* oppor- 
tunity for completing his conquest that was not to be lost; for, with- 
out being more fatuous than most men of his stamp, he was morally 
convinced that Carmen had succumbed to his charms and graces, 
and, like a ripe peach, was ready to fall into his hand so soon as he 
saw fit to extend it. Her pretty embarrassment about the accident 
—or, as he chose to believe it, design— which had caused the miscar- 
riage of her husband’s explanatory note, the presence even of Made- 
moiselle Delaforet, he regarded merely as so many little feminine ar- 
tifices for saving the outward appearances. And if he did not urge 
his suit more openly, or at once assume the airs of “ the man in pos- 
session,” it was simply because, besides being a connoisseur, he was 
something of an epicure, and liked to study the menu and smack his 
lips in anticipatory delight before sitting down to the feast. 

Carmen’s behavior, indeed, on that eventful evening was such as 
almost to justify the vicomte’s theory, besides causing no small as- 
tonishment and alarm to her less mercurial friend and chaperon. 
Excitement of any kind mounted to the girl’s head like new wine. 
And this present fit, following on two days of intense depression, and 
combined with the subtle incense of the vicomte’s flattery, and the 


IF LO VE BE LOVE. 


m 


knowledge that she w r as avenging herself on Yere for his unkind deser- 
tion, had an almost intoxicating effect upon her senses. She talked, 
she laughed, she bandied jests with him as though he were an inti- 
mate friend, and the sight of Mademoiselle Delaforet’s terrified face 
only redoubled her enjoyment, and led her to lavish yet more freely 
the smiles and glances which evidently exerted so potent an influ- 
ence on their distinguished visitor. 

Like a rebellious child, she gloried in her naughtiness, and, reck- 
less of consequences, hugged herself with the belief that, by proving 
her powers of fascination over so great a personage as M. de. Mal- 
sherbes, she would be exalted in her own eyes and in those of her 
too callous and unappreciative husband. 

Meanwhile Mademoiselle Clarisse sat a silent and uneasy specta- 
tor of this barefaced exhibition of conjugal infidelity, for in no other 
sense could she construe Carmen’s extraordinary behavior, and of 
the vicomte’s unrebuffed attempts to play the part of an ardent ad- 
mirer. 

Nothing but a sense of duty towards the misguided girl kept her 
from leaving the room in disgust, and but for the awe in which she 
stood of M. de Malsherbes, she would have openly expressed her 
disapprobation of his conduct. But, indeed, they scarcely seemed 
to heed her presence at all. Carmen sang and accompanied the vi- 
comte, who rolled his eyes and quavered out love- songs in a truly 
pathetic manner. Then they performed duets, and, finally, when 
the girl pressed him to recite some of his own verses, the enraptured 
poet declaimed an ode which he asseverated was composed expressly 
in her honor, and which abounded in sentiments that, even in poe- 
try, sounded a little risque when addressed to another man’s wife. 

At last, to Mademoiselle Clarisse’s extreme relief, M. de Mal- 
sherbes rose to go. “ It is late, and I must not intrude myself any 
longer,” he said, regretfully. “I go, but not to sleep. No; Venus 
has a more potent sway than Sornnus. But I shall dream. Yes, 
I shall dream; and can you guess of whom?” he asked, as he bent 
tenderly over Carmen’s hand. 

“I’m not good at riddles; ask Mademoiselle Delaforet,” said Car- 
men, maliciously. 

“If you cannot divine, no one shall know,” he replied, in a low 
whisper. ‘ * But some day I will venture to tell you— when we are 
alone.” 

“ Well, good-night; I dare say it will keep,” said the girl, wearily. 

The reaction was beginning to set in, and she was disposed to find 
her quasi-eccentric admirer somewhat fatiguing. 

“Good-niglit, sweet lady. When shall I have the felicity of see- 
ing you again?” asked the vicomte, in a tender undertone. “Make 
it soon, for life is a blank for me till then.” 

Carmen laughed merrily in a disconcerting manner. “ Oh, I don’t 
know. You can call if you like; or you can wait till my husband 
returns, if he ever intends to return.” 

“Bonte du ciel! Is there any question of that? What do you 
mean?” exclaimed M. de Malsherbes, trembling with excitement. 


118 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Mean? Oh, nothing. Only that my husband has gone to visit 
an old flame — and who knows? — men are so fickle.” 

“ Not all! Not I! You may believe me when I say that nothing 
shall ever remove your image from my heart. ” 

Although Mademoiselle Clarisse had said good-night, she still re- 
mained in the room, apparently engrossed in her book, and the vi- 
comte had to restrain the wild desire which possessed him to clasp 
his fair enslaver to his breast, and thus emphasize his declaration of 
eternal fidelity. Instead of being warned of the risk she was run- 
ning by the increasing boldness of his language and the irrepressible 
fervor of his emotion, Carmen made no attempt to rebuke him, but 
only smiled up in his face with a look of innocent wonderment not 
unmingled with mischievous amusement. 

‘ 1 1 make no exceptions — and least of all in your case, she ex- 
claimed, with an air of inditference that utterly bewildered her ardent 
adorer. “Good-night once more. Poor Mademoiselle Delaforet. is 
dying of fatigue. Adieu! Au revoir! Thank you so much for 
taking compassion on our loneliness.” 

Whereupon M. de Malsherbes, feeling that nothing was to be 
gained by prolonging his visit, took his departure, inwardly cursing 
Mademoiselle Clarisse for having prevented him from taking ad- 
vantage of his fair hostess’s softer mood, which, while it lasted, 
promised so much, though — had he known her better — meant so lit- 
tle for him. 

As a matter of fact, throughout the whole of that eventful even- 
ing Carmen had been playing a part. In her inmost heart Yere still 
remained enthroned supreme. Even when she most believed him 
cold and false, and while she was striving by her conduct to avenge 
lierself and prove how little she cared for him, her whole soul was 
yearning after him with a passionate longing that only served to 
spur her on to fresh acts of perverse wilfulness. She almost per- 
suaded herself that Yere was present all the time, an invisible spec- 
tator, writhing in the throes of a jealousy which it was her one aim 
to excite and keep alive. For the unhappy vicomte she had no 
thought or feeling. He was a handy instrument for her purpose; 
young enough and sufficiently good-looking to constitute a formi- 
dable vraisemblance of the rival with whom she hoped to checkmate 
Psyche’s advances and bring back Yere’s wandering affections. 
Then, too, he seemed dispose^ to enter into the character that she 
had allotted to him, and to play a lover’s part as it should be played, 
con amove, and with an excess of deference and a gloss of romance 
that helped to conceal the pitfalls and actual dangers of the path 
along which she was so thoughtlessly treading. 

Nevertheless, as far as she personally was concerned, Carmen 
found the comedy rather fatiguing and inclined to drag with only 
Mademoiselle Clarisse for an audience, and she gave a deep sigh of 
relief as the curtain fell — with the departure of M. de Malsherbes. 

“ Is he not amusing, our neighbor?” she cried, flinging herself into 
a deep-seated chair, and gazing up with malicious delight at her 
companion, who stood in the doorway, candle in hand, with an ex- 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


119 


pression compounded of disgust and pity. Mademoiselle Clarisse 
seemed to be hesitating whether to retire without speaking, or to 
give open vent to her feelings, and Carmen, struck with the comi- 
cality of the situation, burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. 
“You are too droll. Why do you look at me like that?” she gasped, 
burying her face in the cushions. 

Mademoiselle Clarisse, all good-tempered that she was, flushed as 
red as a turkey-cock at this additional evidence of levity and heart- 
lessness. “It is shameful! It is incredible! I would not have be- 
lieved that a young girl brought up as you have been, and situated 
as you are, cotild behave like — Well, perhaps I had better not say 
what. ” 

In vain Carmen strove to check her laughter in order to defend 
herself against her friend’s violent onslaught; she could not even 
summon anger to her aid, and only answered with one hysterical 
peal after the other. 

‘ ‘ I shall leave you now to yourself, and to-morrow I quit this 
house,” continued Mademoiselle Clarisse, quite sternly for her. “ It 
is no longer a fit place for a woman who respects either her own 
character or the honor of her sex. If, after a night’s reflection, you 
perceive the truth of my remarks and the danger of the path you 
are treading, let me implore you to accompany me to my sister’s* 
home. There you will be safe from him and from yourself. ” Where- 
upon, and without waiting for any response, the virtuously indignant 
lady swept out of the room, leaving Carmen more convulsed than 
ever. 

Presently Louise entered to inquire if her young mistress was not 
ready for bed, and finding her still in a state of mingled laughter and 
tears, ventured to ask what had happened. 

“ Ah, Louise, if you had only heard her and seen her face! It was 
enough to kill one,” cried the girl, bursting out anew. 

“Pray calm yourself, madame. To whom do you refer? — to 
Mademoiselle Delaforet?” 

“ Of course. She was so outraged by my behavior, and by the at- 
tentions which M. de Malsherbes paid me — she thinks I am lost — 
utterly lost.” 

“ We must make excuses for her — being an old maid, and likely to 
remain one,” said the woman, viciously. “ She is doubtless jealous 
because you monopolized M. le Yicomte so entirely. As though he 
would look at her when you were in the room. Ah, there is un 
amant comme il faut— high-born, good-looking, discreet. Decidedly 
madame is in luck’s way.” 

“You talk nonsense, Louise. What is M. de Malsherbes to me, 
or I to him?” cried Carmen, with some show of indignation. 

“ What he is to you I cannot say, although I know that half the 
ladies in the department would give their eyes to secure his favor ; 
but what you are to him, poor man— that anybody can see with half 
an eye.” 

The implied flattery of these words was irresistibly alluring to 
Carmen. That was her great desire — to triumph where others failed. 


120 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Still she replied, loyally, “ But he is not to compare with my hus- 
band.” 

“I thought madame had doubts as to whether her husband was 
hers only, or whether she shared his affections with the Mees An- 
glaise Id bas,” said Louise, craftily. 

Carmen sprang from her recumbent position with a smothered cry 
of grief and rage, and so furious did she look, that the woman, fear- 
ing for her bodily safety, moved quickly towards the door. 

“ Never venture to address such words to me again, or I will turn 
you out of the house,” cried the girl, her face ablaze with fierce an- 
ger and pain. Then, mastering her passion with a violent effort, she 
added, in a milder tone, “It is partly my own fault for ever having 
confided in such as you. Now go; your presence drives me mad.” 

“May I not assist madame to undress?” asked Louise, humbly. 

“No, leave me. I can dispense with your services for to-night.” 

For a long time Carmen remained alone in the salon brooding over 
her misery, which the woman’s words had called into fresh life. At 
length the guttering candles warned her of the lateness of the hour, 
and she retired to her room, where sleep tardily fell on her aching 
eyes and afforded her temporary relief from the torturing question 
that repeated itself with maddening monotony and persistence, “ Is 
ij true that he loves another?” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“Ah! did we take for Heaven above 
But half such pains— such pains 
As we take daj r and night for woman’s love, 

What angels we should be.” — Thomas Moore. 

As he wended his way towards home M. de Malsherbes felt as 
though he was walking on air. The influence of his passion for 
Carmen was still strong upon him— so strong that it banished all 
other thoughts and desires that did not owe their inspiration to her 
fascinations. Having nursed for so many years the belief that he was 
dead to the world and to the charms of the opposite sex, this sudden 
reawakening of his heart, or his senses, came upon him like a mi- 
raculous revelation, and the romantic side of his nature lent it a 
poetic glamour which blinded him to the ugly matter-of-fact view of 
the situation. 

Early training and his entire course of life had tended to foster 
his inherent selfishness. That self-denial in others is a commenda- 
ble virtue he was quite disposed to admit, but it never entered his 
brain to practise it himself. Thus, while professing and believing 
that he entertained feelings of the most profound devotion for his 
new divinity, he was utterly callous to the thought of the ruin which 
the fulfilment of his cherished desires must inevitably work upon 
her. The cup of happiness was close to his lips. Would it not be 
the height of folly to be restrained from draining it by any old- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


121 


womanish scruples about consequences? He adored her, and she 
was ready to return his passion. That must suffice for the present; 
the future could take care of itself. 

Thus philosophizing, and with the refrain of Carmen’s last song, 
“ Per la vita io t’amero,” on his lips, the amorous vicomte sought his 
couch, and passed half the night in composing odes and sonnets in 
praise of his mistress’s charms — all masterpieces of passionate and 
tuneful eloquence, but which, alas! entirely eluded his memory when 
he strove to recall and transcribe them on the morrow. 

As soon as it was daylight he rose, and, dressing himself with un- 
usual care, went out into the park and sauntered down towards the 
chalet, in order to feast his eyes on the outside view of his beloved 
one’s dwelling; for more than that, at so early an hour, even he did 
not anticipate. 

Presently his heart gave a great bound as one of the windows 
was opened and the persiennes thrown back. From where he stood 
he could not distinguish the features of the early-rising inmate, but 
he fatuously imagined that the magnetic influence of love had 
wakened Carmen from her slumbers and warned her of his prox- 
imity. This notion exactly accorded with the romantic frenzy by 
which his whole mind was possessed. He stole softly nearer to the 
open window, and, concealing his lanky person behind a clump of 
shrubs, began to sing in a quavery undertone, 

“ L’aube nait et ta porte est close 
_ Ma belle pourquoi sommeiller 
A l’heure ou s’eveillela rose 
Ne vas tu pas, te reveiller ? 

O ma'charmante ^coute ici 
L’amant qui chante et pleure aussi. 

Tout frappe a ta porte benie 
L’auroredit: Je suis le jour, 

L’oiseau dit: Je suis l’harmonie, 

Et mon coeur dit : Je suis l’amour. 

O ma cliarmante dcoute ici 
L’amant qui chante et pleure aussi.” 

The damp rawness of a November morning is not conducive to 
clearness of voice, and he was forced to stop in order to clear his 
throat before intoning the third couplet. Scarcely had he recom- 
menced with 

“ Je t’ adore ange et t’aime femme,” 

when the door of th» chalet opened, and Louise appeared, broom- 
stick in hand. 

“ Come out, you drunken rascal, ’’she cried, in irate tones. “ I’ll 
teach you to make this vile caterwauling under respectable people’s 
windows at seven o’clock in the morning.” 

This was a rude awakening from his poetic dreams, and, horrified 
at his undignified position, the vicomte meditated instant flight. 
But, before he could execute his project, retreat was cut off ; for the 
incensed domestic, instead of approaching his hiding-place, made a 


I 


122 IF LOVE BE LOVE. 

flank movement towards tlie garden gate, which she proceeded to* 
lock with grim determination. Deeming it hopeless to attempt to. 
escape undiscovered, M. de Malsherbes decided to make himself 
known. Accordingly, he rose from his crouching position, and, 
stepping forward, began in his most mellifluous tones, Bon jour, 
madame; I fear that I have alarmed you by my untimely visit, but 
I dropped something in the garden last night, and thought I would 
come to look for it myself before the household was up.” 

“ M. le Yicomte! Is it possible?” cried the woman, with feigned 
astonishment. “What is it that you have lost? Can I assist you?” 

“ Oh, it is of no consequence; a little trinket off my watch-chain. 
It is so small that it has probably got trampled into the earth. Still, 
if you— if you — will keep your eyes open when you are walking in 
the garden ” — and M. de Malsherbes slipped a napoleon into her ex- 
pectant hand — “perhaps you may find it, although I cannot.” 

“Merci, Monsieur! Be sure I will keep my eyes well open,” re- 
plied Louise, with a meaning smile. “ And my ears too,” she added 
to herself. 

“You need not acquaint madame of my loss. I shall call later in 
the day to inform her myself, and also to inquire after her health. 
You have not seen her this morning?” 

“No, monsieur. She is not yet awake. She seemed strangely 
disturbed last night after monsieur had gone, and I fear she has not 
slept much. ” 

“Indeed! What could have occurred to disturb her? Have you 
any idea?” asked the vicomte, secretly delighted. 

‘ ‘ Ah ! monsieur knows best himself. He has much to answer for, ” 
said the woman, dropping her eyes and toying with her broomstick. 

“Tell me what you mean. You may trust me,” cried M. de Mal- 
sherbes, excitedly. “You know what an interest I take in your 
charming lady. ” 

Louise shook her head. “I know what I know, but I dare not 
speak. I might lose my situation.” 

“ Never mind your situation. I will find you another.” 

“Monsieur must pardon me. I remember the old proverb — ‘a 
bird in the hand — ’ ” 

“Here, take this as an earnest of my protection;” and again he 
slid a golden token into her greedy fingers. “And now tell me 
what you know.” 

“I think my information is worth further consideration. But I 
leave that to monsieur’s sense of honor.” 

“ Peste! I will give you a hundred francs if all turns out well; but 
can’t you see I am dying with impatience?” 

“ Well, so much I can tell you — madame is very unhappy.” 

“ Yes; go on.” 

“She is madly jealous. She believes her husband is deceiving 
her.” 

“ So much the better.” 

“ Being young, and quite inexperienced, she appeals to me for ad- 
vice— as I have been married and know the ways of husbands.” 


r 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 123 

“ Parbleu! And what do you tell her?” 

“ I do not love this English bear; in fact, I hate the whole race of 
husbands. If I can afford to speak my mind, I shall advise her to 
pay him back in his own coin,” said Louise, looking up with a crafty 
smile to see if she had made her meaning sufficiently plain. 

“ And will she listen to you?” asked the vicomte, eagerly. 

“ To me, and to you?— yes, if you make it worth my while, and 
go to work in the proper manner.” 

“ I will do both. I am ready to go through fire and water to se- 
cure her love,” he cried, in a voice of exultation. 

“Monsieur need not proceed to extremities. All that he has to do 
is to act circumspectly towards madame and generously towards 
me ; and for the rest, to be guided by my advice.” 

“ I understand, and am quite disposed to acknowledge your valu- 
able services,” said the vicomte, preparing to depart. “Apropos, 
will you be so good as to inform your lady that I shall give myself 
the pleasure of calling this afternoon?” 

Louise looked dubious. “ I think you will do well to defer your 
visit for a few days. That Mademoiselle Delaforet might take alarm, 
and if it comes into her head to put our Englishman on his guard — 
Pouf!” 

“Yes, yes, perhaps you are right; but how shall I know when to 
come?” 

“Leave that to me. I will call at the cMteau as soon as I think 
the ground is prepared. Au revoir, M. le Vicomte, et bonne chance.” 
So saying, the woman made him a mock obeisance, and retired in- 
doors. 

It is not difficult to stifle a conscience that is rarely listened to and 
still more rarely obeyed ; and M. de Malsherbes was too much oc- 
cupied during the rest of the day with his anticipated happiness to 
pay much heed to the “still small voice” that had at first raised 
itself in vain protest against his dishonorable designs, and the shame- 
ful alliance into which he had entered for their furtherance. His 
main anxiety was lest, in confiding his passion to Carmen’s maid, he 
was placing himself in the power of a woman who was evidently 
both dangerous and unscrupulous. However, he found consolation 
in the reflection that it was to her interest to keep his, secret, and for 
the rest, it was only one of the risks inseparable from affairs of the 
sort, and for which he must be fully prepared. 

In the whirl and confusion of ideas that were pressing through his 
excited brain, he had formed no definite notion of how his little ro- 
mance, as he delighted in terming it, was likely to end. He likened 
himself to a gallant knight, buckling on his armor to rescue some 
fair damsel from a tyrant enslaver, and, in the blindness of his in- 
fatuation, went near to persuading himself that he was about to per- 
form a meritorious action. Still, crazy dreamer though he was, he 
had sufficient common-sense in his more lucid moments to consider 
the advisability of making some preparations in case the necessity 
should arise for his sudden flight, either with or without the object 
of his adoration. 


124 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


In this view, and also as a means of passing tlie weary hours dur- 
ing which he was debarred from a sight of his charmer, he decided 
to journey up to Paris, and consult his solicitor on the prospects of 
his being able to raise sufficient funds to travel abroad for a year. 
Accordingly, Bernard was summoned in feverish haste, and ordered to 
pack his master’s valise, and to see that a vehicle was forth coming 
to transport him to the station in time for the afternoon train. Had 
the heavens been about to fall, the old man could scarcely have been 
more astonished, but, as his grumbling queries were only answered 
by a peremptory reiteration of the command, he had to resign him- 
self to unwilling obedience, and to apostrophizing the Holy Virgin 
on the sudden change in the vicomte’s habits. 

Meanwhile, Mademoiselle Clarisse had encountered her young 
hostess at breakfast with a visible embarrassment that had caused 
the latter no small amusement and delight. Carmen’s sense of the 
ludicrous and mischievous tendencies were keenly awakened by her 
friend’s solemn countenance, that told of mental anxiety and lectures 
to come. In her simple morning-dress, which harmonized well with 
the air of extreme demureness she had assumed for the occasion, 
the girl looked so bewitchingly innocent, that Mademoiselle Clarisse 
could not conceive her capable of the impropriety of conduct that 
over-night had seemed all too palpable. The good lady began to 
believe herself the victim of some hallucination, and the reproaches 
with which she intended to overwhelm the reprobate died unuttered 
on her lips. 

“ I hope you slept well, my dear,” she began in a tone of mingled 
formality and affectionate interest that accurately reflected her per- 
turbed state of mind. Then, fearing to commit herself by too 
sudden a resumption of friendly intercourse, she added, severely, 

‘ ‘ Though I shall be surprised if you have been able to do so at all 
after the proceedings of last night.” 

“Proceedings! What proceedings?” asked Carmen, with an air 
of naive wonderment. “Oh, I suppose you mean my attack of 
hysterics? That didn’t interfere with my night’s rest, I am happy 
to say. I was a little overtired, that was all ; and something tickled 
my fancy and set me off. What was it, now? I declare I have al- 
most forgotten. ” 

“I am glad of that, and, for my part, I shall try to do the same. 
Perhaps it will be better for all parties that the subject should be 
buried in oblivion,” replied Mademoiselle Clarisse, arching her eye- 
brows and gazing intently at the ceiling. 

Carmen laughed a merry, rippling laugh, so indicative of ease of 
mind and freedom from self-reproach, that her friend felt more than 
ever perplexed and embarrassed. “ What a fool I should have made 
of myself if I had said half the bitter things I intended,” she thought, 
as her eyes rested admiringly on the girl’s smiling and happy face. 

“I know, dear, it was foolish of me to give way to it, but when 
once I am started I am difficult to stop,” remarked Carmen, much 
amused by the other’s puzzled expression, and purposely ignoring 
the reference to her behavior towards M. de Malsherbes. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


125 


A night’s reflection had convinced her, that for the present at any 
rate, the continuance of the visit of Mademoiselle Clarisse was indis- 
pensable to the success of her scheme for reconquering Vere’s affec- 
tion through the instrumentality of the vicomte. 

She needed a companion whose presence would be at once a pro- 
tection against the ardor of M. de Malsherbes’ advances, and an ex- 
cuse to him for the unsatisfactoriness of the return she was able to 
accord to them — one who would be sufficiently alive to the danger 
her friend was running to take steps to put her husband on his guard, 
while yet ready to vouch that she had passed through it unscathed. 

Now, Mademoiselle Clarisse exactly fulfilled all these require- 
ments. And as Carmen did not consider her deeply-laid plot ready 
for its denouement, and feared, from the worthy lady’s expressions 
of anger and disgust on the previous evening, that she was prepared 
to take immediate action, the little hypocrite determined to avoid 
.any explanation, and to do her best to allay temporarily her friend’s 
suspicions. 

The opportune arrival of Vere’s letter (the contents of which were 
made known in a previous chapter) enabled her to turn the conver- 
sation, and as during the next few days the vicomte did not intrude 
himself, Mademoiselle Clarisse began to feel quite easy in her mind. 

Not so Carmen, who was more or less incredulous about the 
squire’s illness, and in her jealous moods was apt to regard it as an 
artifice of her faithless husband’s to serve as an excuse for prolong- 
ing his absence. Self- invented as these torments were, they were 
very real to her, and caused her sleepless nights and days of deep 
depression. She could not even seek distraction and gratify her 
thirst for vengeance by playing in the catlike fashion — instinctive in 
some women — with the affections of her admiring neighbor. Four 
days had passed since he had dined at the chalet, and still he showed 
no signs. As an act of common courtesy, he might have called to 
inquire after her well-being, and this neglect, following his ardent 
protestations of devotion, seemed quite inexplicable. Although she 
in no wise reciprocated the vicomte’s passion, and, apart from his 
general fitness for the purpose she had in view. Carmen took but a 
very slight personal interest in him and his doings, his seeming in- 
difference to her at this juncture was another large drop in her al- 
ready overflowing cup of sorrows. How was Mademoiselle Clarisse 
to be impressed with the magnitude of the risks to which her friend 
was exposed during her husband’s absence, and to be impelled to 
take upon herself to privately urge his imriiediate return when the 
source of danger appeared to have dried up? Carmen had feared 
at first that the action of her little comedy was proceeding too rap- 
idly; but now it was dragging for the want of the principal charac- 
ter, the enterprising lover. And, to make matters worse, there was 
no one else at hand who could fill his part. 

In the mean time, while the girl was brooding over the failure of 
her scheme, Louise, whose cupidity was now brought into play, was 
carefully watching events with a view to turning them to account in 
her own interests. She lost no opportunity of inquiring when, if 


126 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


ever, monsieur thought of returning, and smiled incredulously when 
Carmen explained that he was detained by his father’s mishaps. In 
spite of her previous rebuff, she even ventured to hint that Yere had 
found some more potent attraction than an old man’s sick-bed to 
keep him so long away, and noted with satisfaction that this time 
her mistress allowed her innuendoes to pass unreproved, and averted 
her face in silent anguish. But she felt that all her machinations 
were rendered fruitless by the presence of Mademoiselle Clarisse, 
and consequently hailed the announcement of that lady’s departure 
with secret delight. 

Mademoiselle Delaforet had written to say that she found her sin- 
gle-handed duties rather too onerous, and begged Clarisse to per- 
suade her friend to accompany her to the Pension, and remain as 
their guest until her husband’s return. 

“Do come, dear,” urged Mademoiselle Clarisse. “ You see I am 
forced to go, for poor Mathilde evidently wants me, and it will be 
so lonely for you here. We shall be charmed to have you with us 
again. It will seem like old times. ” 

“You are very kind, but I would rather remain at home, ’’replied 
Carmen, despondently. 

“ Nonsense, child, you’ll only mope yourself to death and imagine 
all sorts of miseries. Besides, you know, dear, it is your husband’s 
wish.” 

No sooner had she spoken these words than Mademoiselle Clarisse 
perceived her mistake. 

Carmen burst out in a furious rage. “ My husband’s wish! That 
is a great inducement. Is it likely I shall disturb myself to please 
him, seeing how he is treating me?” 

“ But, my dear Carmen, you have no evidence — ” 

“No; he takes care of that; but I have the evidence of my senses. 
I am neglected, deserted; what more do you want?” 

“You will smile at your own folly when he returns in a few 
days,” rejoined the other, soothingly. “I can’t imagine what can 
have put such absurd ideas into your little head.” 

‘ ‘ Absurd or not, he’ll find out his mistake. I’m not the sort of wom- 
an to be deceived with impunity;” and the girl darted out of the 
room in a storm of ungovernable passion, leaving poor Mademoiselle 
Clarisse to return to Boisy-la-Reine in a state of mental uneasiness 
and depression. 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ And trust me not at all, 

Or all in all.” — T ennyson. 

To hear some people talk, one might imagine that we in England 
have the sole monopoly of unpleasant weather. 

If Yere had ever shared this delusion, he was in a fair way of be- 
ing disabused of it, for from the time of his landing at Calais until 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


127 


late in the evening when he quitted the train at Boisy-la-Reine, the 
rain fell in cold, unceasing torrents. Having been for the most part 
under shelter, he had avoided getting actually wet. But sitting all 
day cooped up in a railway-carriage in a chill, damp atmosphere is 
not conducive to bodily comfort, and as he drove towards the Pen- 
sion his spirits were at their lowest ebb. 

The intelligence conveyed in Mademoiselle Delaf oret’s letter, coup- 
led with Carmen’s persistent silence, had caused him considerable 
uneasiness, if not positive anxiety; and he had decided to call upon 
the old lady before meeting his wife for the purpose of learning what 
had actually occurred during his absence, and of thus enabling him- 
self to mould his conduct accordingly. 

Quite apart from the bond of mutual love which bound Carmen 
to him, his firm belief in the inherent purity of her sex, and equally 
strong faith in the sanctity of the matrimonial tie, prevented him 
from imagining that she had been guilty of aught worse than 
thoughtlessness, and the indulgence of her childish vanity and pas- 
sion for admiration at the expense of M. de Malsherbes. Still, the 
notion of his wife’s name being associated — however innocently — 
with that of a broken down and half crazy roue , for so he contempt- 
uously regarded his supposed rival, was inexpressibly repugnant to 
him, and he determined to make his neighbor understand that his at- 
tentions must cease at once and for always. Before, however, tak- 
ing the vicomte to task, he felt that he ought to be fully aware of 
how far he was personally to blame, because, leaving justice out of 
the question, any groundless accusations would not only place him- 
self in a false position, but might make it appear as though he mis- 
trusted his wife’s sense of honor. To appeal to Carmen to appor- 
tion the censure due to folly in which she had participated, and had 
perhaps encouraged, seemed to Yere irrational and indelicate; there- 
fore he was bound to seek his information from Mademoiselle De- 
laf oret, who was an. unbiassed observer, and had first brought the 
subject under his notice. 

Fortunately for him, he found the old lady at home, and she joined 
him almost immediately in the salon. 

“Ah, Monsieur Danvers, how glad I am that you have returned,” 
she cried, holding out both her hands, with an expression of min- 
gled satisfaction and trepidation. 

“ Your letter left me no alternative but to hurry back at once,” 
he replied, gravely. “And now I know you will pardon my anx- 
iety to learn the facts of the case before I come face to face with the 
culprit.” 

Mademoiselle Delaforet, accustomed to the demonstrativeness of 
her own countrymen, had expected an outburst of some kind, and 
had prepared herself to soothe his wrath or assuage his anguish, 
accordingly as either predominated. But this absence of passion, 
this judicial calmness of tone and manner, completely mysti- 
fied her. Did it mean that his anger was too deep for words— 
that he contemplated some swift and terrible vengeance on his 
flighty wife and her romantic admirer? She glanced anxiously 


128 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


into his face, which looked pale and stern in the dim light of the 
single lamp, and her heart sank within her. 

“Perhaps I said too much in my letter,” she began, in a quaver- 
ing voice. “ There’s no harm really happened, of that be assured, 
as I am myself— thank God ! I only thought that, loving you both 
as my own children, you ought to be warned of what was going on 
in your absence. ” 

“To be sure; and what really has occurred?” asked Yere, with a 
shade of impatience. He was cold, tired, and hungry, and anxious 
to reach home, so that, at the risk of appearing rude, he was deter- 
mined not to let the old lady digress too much. 

“Nothing more than I told you — I swear to you by the Holy 
Virgin!” she cried, more and more terrified at the tone of condensed 
savagery which she believed she could detect in his voice and man- 
ner. “Monsieur Danvers — dear Monsieur Danvers, I implore you, 
do nothing rashly. The poor child was thoughtless, and unhappy 
at your departure, and acted on the impulse of the moment.” 

It was Yere’s turn to feel perplexed. He stared blankly at the 
speaker, and at the sight of her streaming eyes and ungovernable 
emotion a terrible thought flashed through his mind, a thought of 
which he was ashamed as soon as he had given it utterance. 

“Good God! Do you mean that Carmen — my wife — has com- 
promised herself with that villain?” he cried, hoarsely, seizing her 
arm and squeezing it hard in his momentary anguish. 

“ Oh no, no; I never said that, nor is it true. But you are hurt- 
ing me, Monsieur Danvers,” she replied, in a piteous voice. 

Yere instantly relaxed his grasp, and with it the sternness of his 
features. He raised his hand to his eyes like one waking from a 
horrible dream, and then, convinced as much by the promptings of 
his own heart as by Mademoiselle Delaforet’s earnest asseverations 
of the monstrosity of his momentary suspicion, he said, smilingly, 
“ I beg a thousand pardons, dear lady, for my roughness. It seems 
to me we are frightening each other unnecessarily. Perhaps it is my 
fault for attempting to hurry you too much. Come, now, I will sit 
down here quietly, and you shall tell your tale in your own way. It is 
only another exemplification of the proverb— more haste, less speed.” 

Relieved by his change of manner, Mademoiselle Mathilde pro- 
ceeded to narrate more or less succinctly the circumstances of her 
sister’s visit, culminating in the unexpected arrival of the vicomte 
to dinner. 

“It is strange. M. de Malsherbes cannot have received my note; 
and yet I certainly wrote to him to say that our little party must be 
postponed, and I brought it with me to post when I came to see you 
the evening before my departure, ’’observed Yere, pulling out a bun- 
dle of letters from his pocket. “Can I have forgotten to do so? 
By Jove, I did! here it is. It has slipped inside another large en- 
velope, and that accounts for my not discovering my oversight soon 
er. It appears we have had #11 our anxiety for nothing, and I might 
as well have stayed to see my father after all. However, I have 
only my own stupidity to thank.” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


129 


“I am very glad you have found that letter; it makes the behav- 
ior of M. de Malslierbes less reprehensible,” said Mademoiselle De- 
lal'oret, quietly. To say truth, the old lady was a little piqued by 
the extreme cheerfulness with which Yere, in the reaction after his 
terrible dread, was disposed to view the matter. Although he did 
not say so in so many words, it suggested that, in his opinion, she 
had acted on insufficient grounds in bringing him back. 

“Less reprehensible, my dear lady! Is there anything wrong in 
a man turning up to dine when he has been invited? No, the mis- 
take was mine, and I should have felt very foolish if I had accused 
him of ungentlemanly behavior, as I at first thought of doing.” 

This defence of his rival roused the spirit of contradiction gener- 
ally latent in the feminine mind. So long as Carmen was safe, the 
good lady cared not how it fared with the vicomte, for whom she 
had contracted an extreme antipathy. 

“After all. you would not have been far wrong, ” she observed; 
“ his intrusion did not end there.” 

“ Indeed!” said Yere, in a tone of patient resignation. 

“Indeed, no. He waited till Clarisse had left the chalet, as I 
could not spare her longer, and then called when your wife was 
alone.” 

“ Humph! It would certainly have been better taste to have de- 
ferred his visit till my return.” 

“You will think his taste still more questionable when I tell you 
that it was in the evening, after dinner — and that he has been there 
every day since, on one pretext or another,” said Mademoiselle De- 
laforet, unable to restrain a tone of triumph. 

“But, my dear lady, how do you know all this, since neither you 
nor your sister were there?” asked Vere, not quite at his ease, but 
unwilling to allow himself to be again alarmed without good reason. 

“Partly from Carmen herself, and partly from one of my maids, 
whose cousin is in the service of M. de Malslierbes. You may 
rely upon the truth of what I state. And, indeed, I myself met the 
vicomte coming out of the chalet three days ago, when I went to 
urge upon your wife the necessity for circumspection, and to try 
and persuade her to put a stop to all this scandal by coming to stay 
here until your return.” 

“And what did Carmen say?” asked Yere, shortly. 

“ You are a man of sense, and will know how to make allowances 
for what is, after all, only the outcome of a fit of girlish temper and 
obstinacy— otherwise, I should hardly like to tell you—” 

“Pray go on — I desire to know all the truth.” 

“ Her reply was, ‘If my reputation is in danger, as you say, the 
fault lies with my husband more than with me. I choose to remain 
in mv own house; I am no longer a child to be ordered from one 
place to another, and because I am deserted by those whose duty it 
is to protect me, it is no reason why 1 should close my door on the 
only friend who takes pity on my desolate condition.’ ” 

“ Silly child, she knows I could not help myself. And who would 
have thought she would make such a fuss about a few days’ ab- 

9 


130 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


sence?” exclaimed Vere, in a tone of annoyance. “ Surely she must 
see the indelicacy of her proceedings. As for this M. de Malsherbes, 
I shall have to talk to him seriously.” 

“Pray be cautious in dealing with him, or you may have a duel 
on your hands, and that would only make people talk the more.” 

“ Confound them, yes! Whatever comes or goes, they are sure to 
do that,” said Vere, rising to take his departure. “ Well, I think the 
best thing I can do is to make haste home, and try to persuade Car- 
men into a rational frame of mind. I believe, as you sa3 r , that it is 
nothing but a storm in a teacup, and will soon blow over; but I 
thank you heartily all the same for your kindly warning.” 

“ Carmen is not like other girls; she is so intense, whether in love 
or hate, and passion blinds her to everything but the impulse of the 
moment,” said Mademoiselle Delaforet, as she shook hands with him 
at the door. “ However, there is one consolation for both of us. 
She loves you with her whole heart and soul, of that I am con- 
vinced; aud all women — and she most of all — can be governed 
through the heart when everything else fails. Au revoir, cher Mon- 
sieur Danvers. I shall look for good news to-morrow.” 

Vere was half way down to the gate, at which his conveyance was 
waiting, when the old lady called him back. 

“I forgot to mention,” she said, in a hurried whisper, “that it 
will be well to change your servant. Louise has been to the ckftteau 
more than once, closeted with M. de Malsherbes, and I have reason 
to believe that she has encouraged his visits even if she is not in his 
pay. Mark my words, that is a dangerous woman.’.’ 

“Thank you. I think you are right. I never liked her myself. 
But she was Madame Bouchard’s recommendation, and an excellent 
cook.” 

“ Well, I will try to find you another as good, and without her tal- 
ent for intrigue. Meanwhile, watch her for yourself.” 

“ I’m afraid a man is no match for a woman at that kind of game, ” 
laughed Vere. “ But I am keeping you in the damp. How cold it 
is; good-ntglit, once more.” 

As the vehicle rattled over the round, knobbly stones, with which 
the streets of the little town were paved, and after crossing the two 
bridges, turned to the right, and commenced to ascend the forest 
track, which led to the chalet, Vere, leaning back against the damp 
and mouldy-smelling cushions, closed his eyes, aud tried to collect 
his thoughts. Wliat he had just learned might mean a great deal 
or nothing at all. He inclined to the latter belief, and determined 
that, in any case, nothing but the most incontrovertible proofs should 
induce him to doubt, still less to appear to doubt, his wife’s honor 
and affection. He would meet her as though nothing out of the or- 
dinary course of things had happened, leaving it to her to explain or 
excuse her conduct as aud when she thought fit. All the wrath and 
indignation aroused within him by Mademoiselle Mathilde’s narra- 
tion were directed against M. de Malsherbes. And when he recalled 
his unblushing attempts to play the Don Juan to his Zerlina, Vere’s 
fingers itched to read him a lesson that he would not easily forget. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


131 


But as yet he had no positive proofs that the vicomte had any inten- 
tion of acting dishonorably. Consequently, he deemed it wiser in 
his case also to take no immediate steps towards calling him to ac- 
count. If their neighbor persisted in intruding himself upon them, 
he should give him clearly to understand that his presence was un- 
welcome. And if that did not suffice — well, it would be time 
enough then to translate language into action. And to judge from 
the thinker’s expression and attitude, the action was likely to be 
sufficiently forcible. 

The sudden cessation of the jolting and jerking motion — sugges- 
tive of an attempt on the part of the toiling horse to wrench the 
rickety vehicle asunder — to which, after half an hour’s experience, 
Vere’s aching bones were beginning to grow accustomed, brought his 
meditations to a halt. Peering out into the darkness, he dimly per- 
ceived lights burning in a way-side habitation, which proved, on 
nearer inspection, to be his own. His approach had evidently been 
heralded by the grinding of the wheels and the furious cracking of 
the driver’s whip, for, as he descended from his torture-chamber, the 
hall door was thrown open, and there, in a flood of light, cast by the 
little pendent lamp, augmented by another held by Louise in the 
background, stood Carmen. 

She gave one piercing glance into the outside gloom, and, regard- 
less of cold, rain, and mud, and equally heedless of the presence of 
the strange coachman, she bounded towards the weary traveller with 
a soft cry of delight. Then, hanging round his neck, with every 
demonstration of affection, she murmured tenderly, “You have 
come back, then, at last, Vere, my darling — my husband!” 

For the first time in his existence, Vere forgot his objections to a 
scene. Doubts, fears, ill-temper, all vanished like night before ad- 
vancing dawn and the warm kiss of the sun — only that, in this case, 
his sun shone with a reflected light, and made its sweet caresses felt 
rather than seen through the surrounding obscurity. Perhaps that 
was why this public display of emotion left no sting of shame, and 
why he, who prided himself on being matter-of-fact and cool-headed 
so far forgot his tenets as to clasp the tender form closely to his 
breast and warmly return her embraces. 

******* 

“ Then you received my telegram and expected me?” asked Vere, 
awakening to the fact that he was not yet in Paradise, and that there 
are such things as colds, aches, and pains in store for tender women 
who affront a winter’s night in thin shoes and in-door clothing. 
“ Come, dearest, run in while I settle with the driver.” 

Carmen obeyed, and when he joined her in the warm salle-d-man- 
ger, where a cosey little supper was spread for two, and she, with the 
love-lidit still dancing in her eyes, and a bright flush of happiness 
on her cheeks, playfully dragged him into his dressing-room, and 
ordered him to change his damp clothes before he spoke another 
word, Vere felt that even terrestrial love and comforts are passing 
sweet. 

By mutual, although tacit consent, that evening was devoted to 


132 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


the enjoyment of seeing one another again after their short separa- 
tion. No mention was made by either of the untoward circum- 
stances under which they had parted, nor of theomiuous and still un- 
explained subsequent events which had led to their sudden reunion. 

Yere looked in his wife’s happy face and dismissed all doubts and 
suspicions as groundless and unworthy ; and she, reading his heart 
through his eyes, forgot all about Psyche and M. de Malsherbes, or 
remembered them only to laugh to herself over her dread of a rival 
and her own abortive schemes of vengeance. 

To Louise their joy was as gall and wormwood, and she strove to 
act like the mummy at the Egyptian feasts by frequently intruding 
her sour face, and scowling, by turns, warningly at Carmen and 
menacingly at Yere. But her ill-tempered glances fell unheeded, 
and when she received her dismissal for the night she retired to be- 
moan the vanishing prospect of her still unearned reward. 

On the following day Yere induced Carmen to accompany him to 
Boisy - la - Reine, and, although he abominated ceremonious visits, 
made a point of calling on all their friends and acquaintances, and 
finished up the afternoon by dining en tete-a-tete with his wife in the 
public room of the Aigle Noir. This seemed to him the quickest and 
surest method of giving the lie to the various scandals which his 
abrupt departure and the vicomte’s subsequent behavior had set on 
foot. And indeed he could have adopted no better plan. To begin 
with, the hotel was the rallying-point of all the gossips of the place, 
and Madame Bouchard herself, with her ubiquitous interest in and 
knowledge of the affairs of her neighbors, and extreme delight in 
publicly displaying her powers of observation, was equal to half a 
dozen leading articles in the newspapers as a means of authoritative- 
ly announcing the perfect accord which existed in the jeune menage 
Anglais. Vere had always been a favorite of the good lady’s, and, 
although she felt that she owed it to her reputation to be the first 
to spread the report of their disagreement and of Carmen’s flighty 
conduct, she was none the less glad to be able to announce that all 
was now well between them. 

It goes without saying that kind-hearted Mademoiselle Delaforet 
was overjoyed at the new complexion Yere’s return had given to af- 
fairs. 

“ I told you that the dear child was only fretting at your absence,” 
she whispered triumphantly in Yere’s ear, as they were taking their 
departure. “She’s like a flower that only opens its petals in the 
sun. You are her sun, jeune monsieur, so see that you always shine 
at the proper time.” 

“ And you the moon to watch over her in the sun’s absence, and 
right well you have done it,” Yere smiled reply. 

“ Have you seen anything of M. de M ?” asked the old lady with 

a swift glance at Carmen, who was talking to Mademoiselle Clarisse. 

“No, not yet. And if he is wise, he will keep out of my way for 
the present. I don’t feel particularly amicably disposed towards him. 
Apropos of likes and dislikes, have you thought of any one to re- 
place Louise?” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


133 


“To be sure I have, but that is not in your department. I will 
tell your wife. Here Carmen, my dear, Monsieur Danvers tells me 
that you are not quite satisfied with your servant. Now, I can rec- 
ommend to you a perfect treasure. ” 

Carmen started, and looked uneasily at her husband. The men- 
tion of Louise recalled her own past folly, that she now wished for- 
ever banished and forgotten, and, above all, never to be paraded be- 
fore Yere’s eyes. “ Did he, after all, suspect something? Was his 
kindness and apparent contentment only assumed?” This thought 
brought with it a glimpse of the difficulties which lay before her 
should she ever be called upon to give an explanation of her con- 
duct. She had allowed herself to be led into a questionable position 
in the gratification of her momentary anger and spite, and now what 
proof had she to offer of her innocence beyond her own word ? There 
was, however, no sign of anger or suspicion in Yere’s face, so she found 
courage to reply, although with heightened color and a palpitating 
heart, “I don’t remember saying I wished to change, but, all the 
same, I think I should be glad to do so. Louise is a good servant in 
some respects, but — ” 

“ Well, my protegee is a good one in ^’’interrupted Mademoi- 
selle Mathilde, “so we’ll regard that as settled. You can give the 
woman notice to-night when you reach home, and I will tell Marie 
to hold herself in readiness to take her place as soon as her time is 
up.” 

Carmen did not much relish the task before her, for Louise had 
succeeded in gaining considerable influence over her, the influence 
of a strong and unscrupulous will over one which, although not 
weak, was vacillating and fitful. However, she felt that it was Yere’s 
wish, and in her present state of mind there was nothing he could 
have asked that she was not equal to doing or attempting. 

Evidently, Louise was not unprepared for some such turn of 
events, for when, on the following morning, Carmen informed her 
that they no longer required her services, she received the intimation 
in sullen silence. Possibly this was due to the fact that Yere was in 
the room, and her guilty conscience told her that, if he had known 
the depths of her intended villaify, she would hardly have got off 
unpunished. Or, she may have reckoned that her grudge against 
Vere, which the failure of her first attempt to ruin his happiness 
had only increased, could be better settled when she was out of his 
service. At any rate, she quitted the apartment without making any 
of the disclosures which Carmen had more than half dreaded; and 
she busied herself that afternoon with inditing a long epistle to M. 
de Malsherbes at Paris, whither he had retired at her suggestion, on 
the first intimation of Yere’s return. 

As the consequence of all the unusual excitement of the past few 
weeks, Carmen was seized with a serious feverish attack, which 
obliged her to keep her room, and caused Yere no little anxiety. It 
was altogether so unnatural to see her, who was usually so vivacious 
and restless, lying, with half-closed eyes, languid and silent, that he 
conjured up all sorts of exaggerated notions as to the gravity of her 


134 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


malady, and would not rest satisfied until he had summoned a phy- 
sician from Paris. “ With careful nursing and attention all would 
be well” — such was the great man’s report; and Vere determined 
that she should lack neither while he was by to look after her. Nor 
was his devotion thrown away. The pale cheeks soon began to re- 
cover their peach-like coloring, and the bright eyes to lose their un- 
natural brilliancy and restlessness, and to meet his glances of tender 
solicitude with looks of conscious affection and heartfelt gratitude. 
By-and-by Carmen was able to sit up in her reclining-chair and watch 
him painting, or even to listen while he read aloud for her amuse- 
ment. 

Never since the days of their first infatuation had husband and 
wife been so drawn together, so thoroughly at one, as they were now. 
Suffering and sympathy had toned down the little asperities and 
points of friction in both their characters, and each appeared to the 
other in a fresh and charming light. 

The new servant turned out a great success, the Demoiselles Dela- 
foret and Madame Bouchard were unremitting in their kind atten- 
tions, and, altogether, this time of illness was far from being one of 
unhappiness. Of course it prevented Vere from returning to Dan 
verfield as he had intended, but he was kept well posted up in home 
intelligence by Mrs. Danvers and Psyche, and both assured him that 
there was no need for anxiety on his father’s account, and that he 
would lose nothing by waiting. 

Thus the winter months were speeding quickly by, and Vere hoped 
that, by deferring his visit until the spring, Carmen would be able 
to accompany him and plead her own cause in person. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“The long demurring maid, 

Whose lonely unappropriated sweets 
Smiled like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff, 

Not to be come at toy the willing hand.” 

Bl air’s Grave. 

Lieutenant Holdsworth had carried away with him a very 
vivid impression of the charms of Squire Danvers’s niece. 

Although not given to sentimentalizing, which in others he con 
temptuously designated as ‘‘softness” and “bosh,” he found him- 
self perpetually conjuring up before his mind’s eye the fair face and 
graceful figure of Miss Psyche. And so pleasant was this vision to 
contemplate, that he felt the utmost reluctance to substitute for it 
the thoughts of daily drill and of awkward squads, of pipe-clay and 
inspections and field-days, which had hitherto formed his mental 
pabulum. 

He had gone so far as to treasure up the flower which she had be- 
stowed upon him at their last interview, and, in the solitude of his 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


135 


own room, he not unfrequently drew it from its hiding-place, and 
shamefacedly lavished upon it admiration and even caresses, which 
the appearance of the few faded petals and leaves seemed scarcely 
to warrant. 

“I wonder what the deuce has come to me. I’ve seen lots of 
pretty girls before, and I’ve never felt so inclined to make a fool of 
myself. Jack, my boy, we’ve often said that matrimony isn’t in our 
line. We must pull ourselves together and shake off this nonsense.” 
Thus he apostrophized himself more than once, but the nonsense 
declined to be shaken off, and Lieutenant Holdsworth began to get 
rather nervous about his precious self. He had so long been accus- 
tomed to inveigh against matrimony as a “ leap in the dark, with a 
ten-to-one chance of your coming to grief on the other side of the 
fence,” that, to seriously contemplate it for himself, seemed little 
short of rank apostasy. Then again, although he might discover or 
manufacture an excuse of sufficient cogency for home consumption, 
it was quite another affair to have to eat his own words before all 
his brother-officers after posing as the apostle of celibacy. 

This, for a while, seemed his main difficulty. But when the pow- 
er that laughs at locksmiths, and equally at logicians, asserted itself 
and led him to steel his heart against prospective gibes and chaff, lo! 
another awaited him, involving a still further subversion of his pre- 
conceived notions and theories. Granted that he, for his part, was 
willing to sacrifice his dearly-prized freedom, and to trust to his luck 
and the “off-chance” to land him on his legs, would the incompa- 
rable Psyche condescend to favor his suit? That he — the enfant gate 
of the regiment — young, well-born, good-looking, and with comfort- 
able means, accustomed to be made much of by society, especially 
by the feminine division, should pause and tremble at the question, 
was proof positive of the genuineness of his passion. Without being 
more conceited than the generality of men of his stamp, Jack Holds- 
worth had been accustomed to regard himself as “a decent sort of 
fellow,” and, from a matrimonial point of view, as “a very good 
catch”— both of which he undoubtedly was. But true love induces 
humility, and when the blind god’s shaft speeds true, it pierces the 
outer casing of selfishness and self - content, and fills the stricken 
heart with a fervent idolism, the converse of which is humbleness of 
mind and self-distrust. 

Now Jack was a man of action, and the question having arisen, 
and clamoring for a reply, he determined that answered it should be 
at once in one sense or the other. Accordingly he obtained a fort- 
night’s leave, and promptly transported himself and his hunters to 
his uncle’s residence in the neighborhood of Danverfield. Christmas 
was at hand, and he found the Grange full of visitors, a circumstance 
on which he had not counted, and with which, in his present state 
of mind, he would willingly have dispensed. 

“Delighted to see you, my boy,” cried Mr. Bolton, who had driven 
over to the station to meet his nephew. “ But you’ll have to put up 
with indifferent quarters. We never dreamed of you coming till we 
received your note yesterday, and your aunt and the girls, between 


136 


IF LOVE BE LOYE. 


them, have packed the old place pretty nearly full with their London 
friends. However, we can manage a shake-down for you somewhere ; 
and thank goodness there’s lots of stable room. ” 

“To tell the truth, I forgot all about its being Christmas; and 
finding the chief in an amiable mood, I thought I might as well 
screw another week’s leave out of him. Then, having done the trick, 
it occurred to me that I couldn’t do better than run down here for a 
change. One gets tired of always hunting in the same country,” 
said Jack, hypocritically. 

“ Well, as I said before, we’re right glad you’re come. The more 
the merrier. You’ll be a godsend to the girls, for they’ve invited no 
end of town belles, and they’re a sort of bell that wants constant 
ringing, or they get out of tune.” 

“That’s not much in my line,” said Jack, gloomil} r . “ I’ve come 
for the hunting.” 

“ Oh yes. I know all about that. You young fellows of the pres- 
ent day think it the correct thing to turn up your noses at female 
society, and pretend you don’t know a pretty face when you see it. 
Fact is, you’re a set of conceited young puppies, and afraid of letting 
yourselves go too cheap. Sport, indeed. Where can you get better 
sport than in the company of a charming girl? You should do as 
we used in my young days— combine the worship of Diana with that 
of Venus.” 

“ That’s all very well; but women can’t shoot, and they’re gener- 
ally in the way in the hunting-field — at least most of them,” replied 
Master Jack, with a mental reservation in favor of Psyche Danvers. 

“That’s a pretty speech for a young buck wearing" her Majesty’s 
uniform. But you’ll find your hunting cut short, at least as regards 
the harriers. You heard of poor old Danvers’s accident?” 

“Yes; Compton told me of it, and I saw it in the Field — six weeks 
ago. I suppose I must go over and call, as he entertained me last 
time I was here,” said Jack, carelessly. 

“ You can do as j r ou like about that; though I can’t say I admire 
your taste if you prefer the society of that old bear to that you’ll 
find at the house. We’ve done the polite in sending over, but hang 
me if I’d care to tackle Bruin personally, particularly now that he’s 
got a sore head to sweeten his temper,” replied Mr. Bolton, who, 
like most of the neighboring gentry, had a wholesome dread of the 
old squire’s biting tongue and uncompromising habit of calling a 
spade a spade — if nothing plainer. 

“ He’s a regular old curiosity, and that’s why I like him. Then 
he’s a rare good sportsman, and it seems rough on the old gentleman 
to be knocked off his hunting like that,” said Jack, still speaking 
half truths. 

“ Well, if he’s an old curiosity, you’re a young one. But here we 
are, with just half an hour to dress for dinner,” exclaimed Mr. Bol- 
ton, pulling up the steaming horses. ‘ ‘ Jump down, my boy. Walker 
will show you your room. Mind every hair is in place, for you’ll 
be the cynosure of many pairs of bright eyes in the drawing-room. 
That’s what it is to have a reputation as a dandy and a lady-killer.” 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


m 

Jack laughed as he followed the portly butler into the hall, but 
made no reply; and Mr. Bolton, shaking his head gravely, threw 
the reins to his groom and slowly mounted the steps after his 
nephew. 

“ There’s something wrong with that boy, or else with- our pres- 
ent system of education,” he muttered. “When I was his age, I 
shouldn’t have talked of leaving a house full of pretty girls to call 
on a crusty old invalid.” 

But then Mr. Bolton didn’t know all the facts of the case. 

The next morning there was a handy meet of Lord L ’s fox- 

hounds, and young Holdsworth appeared at the breakfast-table in 
the full glory' of pink coat, shining boots, and immaculate tops and 
leathers, a glory which was shared in, although to a lesser extent, by 
several of the other guests. 

Jack secretly hoped that some of the Danverfield party would be 
out — possibly even Miss Psyche herself; and he wasn't best pleased 
at the thought of their meeting being witnessed by all these people, 
particularly as some of the ladies expressed their intention of follow- 
ing the chase, and one had even done him the honor of selecting him 
for her pilot. As in duty bound, he bowed graciously and expressed 
his extreme delight; but inwardly he groaned, “I know what that 
means. She’ll stick to me all day like a leech, and if she doesn’t 
succeed in jumping on me, will come to grief herself in the middle 
of the run, and spoil the day for both of us.” 

However, neither his joyous anticipations nor his gloomy forebod- 
ings were destined to come to pass. Psyche was not out, and his 
fair companion proved to be a good horsewoman, and neither “ rode 
jealous ” nor recklessly, but acquitted herself most reputably, con- 
sidering that she was steering a strange horse over a strange country. 
And well was it for her that she knew what she was about, and was 
on a safe mount, for the young man, disappointed in his expectation 
of meeting his inamorata, rode harder and straighter than was con- 
sistent with his duty as pilot, and even forgot to turn his head to see 
if his charge was able to negotiate the formidable obstacles over 
which he occasionally led her. 

They had a good forty minutes and a pretty kill, and while the 
crisp morning air was still resounding with the “ wlioo- whoop — tear 
him up!” of the huntsman and whips, Jack espied Charlie Danvers 
among the favored few who were in at the death. 

Instantly his countenance lightened, and he rode up to Psyche’s 
brother with a cordial greeting. 

“ Where did you spring from?” he asked; “ I did not see you at 
the meet.” 

“ No, I was rather late, but just nicked in as you were going away 
from the gorse. Capital spin, wasn’t it? Our hounds haven’t been 
out since the old gentleman’s accident, so I haven’t had so much of 
this sort of thing as usual this season,” said Charlie, patting his steed’s 
reeking neck. 

“I suppose not. But can’t you get to this pack pretty easily?” 

“ They meet within range two days a week, as a rule; but I’ve 


13S 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


had my hands so full that I haven’t been able to spare more than an 
occasional day. ” 

“That's rough. How is the squire getting on? And your — all 
your people?” 

“ As well as can be expected, thanks. But he’ll never be the same 
man again, and I am afraid he’ll have to give up the harriers. The 
doctors say his brain is affected, and certainly he has not recovered 
his memory.” 

“ I am sorry to hear that. I thought of riding over to see him 
one day before I leave.” 

“Do. You’ll find him considerably altered. He looks quite the 
old man, and, strange to say, the fall seems to have knocked the bad 
temper out of him. He hardly ever swears now, even at me,” said 
Charlie, laughing. 

“ That’s a bad sign, but it decides n c to pay him a visit. I prom- 
ised Compton I’d bring him the latest news. Is your sister still with 
you? I suppose not, as she isn’t out to -day, ’’said Jack, bending 
down to knock a lump of mud off one of his spurs. 

“Yes, she and the governor and mater are all here for Christmas; 
but she doesn’t like to leave the old man. He’s never happy when 
she’s out of his sight. I suppose you’re putting up at the Grange?” 

“Yes, and we've got a houseful of people, mostly of the fair sex 
—worse luck. A man feels so awfully tied with a pack of girls to 
entertain. By-the-way, that reminds me, I’m supposed to have one 
under my wing now. Where the deuce has she flown to? Oh, there 
she is talking to Talbot. That’s a mercy; he’ll keep her off my 
hands for the rest of the day. There’s nothing he likes better than 
dancing attendance on a petticoat.” 

On the termination of the day’s sport Jack found himself within 
two or three miles of Danverfield; so, after arranging with the gal- 
lant captain about the safe escort of his fair charge, whom he him- 
self had so sliamefulty neglected, he jogged on with Charlie Dan 
vers to pay his promised visit. 

He found the squire seated in an invalid-chair near the fire in his 
own particular sanctum, and at his feet, on a low stool, reclined 
Psyche, book in hand. 

As the two young men entered the room the girl sprang up. cry- 
ing, eagerly, “ Well, Charlie, what sort of day have you had?” Then 
peering through the gathering darkness at the second intruder, she 
exclaimed, “Why, it’s Mr. Holdsworth. This is an unexpected 
pleasure. ” 

As she turned her face towards him, and held out her hand by 
way of welcome. Jack gazed earnestly on the features that had so 
deeply impressed themselves on his heart, “Verj T kind of you to 
say so, I’m sure,” he replied, gayly ; then added, in a lower tone, 
“ I wish I was sure that } 7 ou mean it.” 

“I never say anything that I don’t mean — at least, hardly ever,” 
said Psyche; and, as she spoke, the flickering flame just lighted up 
her cheek, and for the moment Jack almost believed that she was 
blushing. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


139 


What a charm there is in a maiden’s blush, particularly when we 
can flatter ourselves that it is called forth by delight at our presence. 
Though, if we only knew how often it arises from mere surprise, 
or self-consciousness, or even from the secret knowledge of some 
little defect in her toilet, which our unexpected appearance leaves 
her no time to remedy, we should be less ready to lay the flattering 
unction to our souls, and less surprised when our charmer turns out 
to be in love only with herself, or, at any rate, not with us. But 
then, if everybody were wise, and knew the exact ins and outs of 
everybody else’s character, what a very matter-of-fact, unromantic 
world this w T ould be! 

Be that as it may, Jack Holdsworth felt a thrill of unreasoning 
delight, and kept the soft little hand in his longer than a merely for- 
mal greeting demanded. I hoped you would have been out with 
us to-day, for I wanted to hear how your uncle was progressing. 
Your brother told me I should find you here, so I thought I would 
seek information at headquarters,” he remarked, somewhat incon- 
sequently. 

“ Well, here is my uncle to answer for himself,” replied Psyche, 
gently withdrawing from his grasp. “Uncle, dear, this is Mr. 
Holdsworth, who hunted with us and dined here two or three 
months ago. He has kindly called in on purpose to see you.” 

Jack fancied he could detect a malicious intonation in these last 
words; but he contented himself with casting a reproachful glance 
towards her, which was probably lost in the darkness, and advanced 
to greet the invalid. 

“ Mr. Holdsworth! I don’t seem to remember the name; but then 
my memory’s rather shaky,” said the squire, in a voice of feeble 
petulance. “Ring for the lamps, my dear, so that we all can see 
one another. Anyhow, it’s very kind of him to call.” 

“Not at all. I assure you I was most anxious to hear how you 
were. I have not forgotten the kindness you showed me ; besides, 
I promised Compton,” replied Jack, heartily. 

“Well, I hear you’ve had a good day’s sport. I wonder how 
long it will be before I am in the saddle again. Ah! here are the 
lights. Psyche, my dear, tell them to bring in some refreshment for 
these gentlemen. I hope some one is looking after your horses.” 

“Yes, thanks; we took them round to the stables and saw them 
gruelled before we came in.” 

“ That’s right; always see to your beast yourself. It’s the least 
a man can do after being safely carried through a good run.” 

“Ora woman either,” joined in Psyche. “ I always used to give 
Norah her gruel myself when I got home — dear old pet.” 

“When are you coming out again, Miss Danvers?” asked Jack, 
with an eye to business. 

“Oh, I don’t know; soon, I hope, when uncle is quite well and 
can spare me.” 

“I can spare you now, child, if you like to go. You’ve never 
said you wanted to hunt all this time, and I thought you wouldn’t 
care to go among strangers without me.” 


i40 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“But Miss Danvers won't be among strangers if she comes out 
with us on Thursday. There’ll be her brother and myself to look 
after her, and a large party of ladies from my uncle’s,” interposed 
Jack, eagerly. 

“ Where do they meet?” 

“At Whip’s-cross — about eight miles from here.” 

“I know; bless the boy. Well, it’s a nice open country, and a 
gallop won’t do the mare any harm. What do you say, Psyche?” 

“I should like to go immensely, if you are quite sure you can 
spare me,” cried Psyche, her eyes sparkling with anticipated pleas- 
ure. 

“Spare you, child? Why, there’s nothing the matter with me 
now. Only you women are so fond of coddling and nursing, that 
when you get a man down you sit on his head, and try your best to 
kill him with kindness.” 

And so, much to Jack’s delight, before he mounted his horse to 
jog back to the Grange it was settled that he should call for Psyche 
and her brother on his way to the next tiysting - place of Lord 
H ’s hounds. 

That eveniug young Holdswortli was the life and soul of the par- 
ty at the Grange. Even the fair damsel whom he had treated so 
cavalierly, in the ungallant sense of the word, and who had confided 
to her friends that he was a dull, unmannered boor, was bound to 
admit that he could be agreeable and amusing when he chose — an 
admission not a little galling to her self-conceit; while the non-riding 
division, of the male visitors who had been expending their atten- 
tions and devotions unremittingly on behalf of the ladies during the 
whole day, were entirely out of the hunt — snuffed out by this lordly 
young spark, who had hitherto displayed a callous indifference to 
the charms of their society, and only now exerted himself to please 
as a means of working off his own elation. Such is life! 

Thursday arrived, and Jack stole stealthily away before the oth- 
ers, to avoid being told off as escort for any of the fair pursuers 
starting from his uncle’s house. He had made up his mind to pro- 
pose to Psyche that very day, and his brain was full of schemes for 
securing a favorable opportunity. 

He regarded as good omens the bright smile with which she 
greeted him, and the friendly and almost familiar chat in which she 
joined as the trio trotted steadily on to the meet. And when he 
hesitatingly suggested that, as he knew that side of the country bet- 
ter than she did, she should allow him to be her pilot, her willing 
assent filled him with elation. 

During the first part of the day he felt that he owed it to her love 
of the sport and his own reputation that she should figure in the 
first flight. Accordingly, he cut out the work in a business-like 
manner, wasting no breath in words, nor time in needless gallantries, 
and had the satisfaction of sharing her delight when she witnessed 
the successful termination of a “really good thing.” Honor and 
his appetite for a good gallop being satisfied, the voice of love be- 
gan to make itself heard, and Master Jack was on the alert for a 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


141 


chance of unburdening his feelings, and of circumventing a quarry- 
more shy, elusive, and wary than the cunningest fox that ever broke 
covert— a young girl’s heart. 

All is fair in love and war; and Jack, acting on this maxim, de- 
liberately led his companion away from the rest of the field, on the 
plea of avoiding a dirty ride through a big covert which the hounds 
had just begun to draw. 

“Come along, Miss Danvers,” he cried, cantering off, so as to 
leave her no time for argument. “ I know a short cut through to 
the point where the fox is sure to break.” 

Nothing doubting, Psyche followed, and soon the two were en- 
gaged in a narrow foot-track skirting the wood. 

“It may be a short cut, and it may be less dirty than the other 
rides, but nobody else seems to share your opinion,” said Psyche, 
laughing and looking back. “And I don’t wonder at it if they 
have any respect for their faces and hats. We shall be torn to 
pieces by the time we get through.” 

“ It’s better riding a little farther along, and if you’ll follow quite 
close behind me, I’ll break a way through for y T ou and keep the 
branches out of your face,” replied Jack, gallantly plunging on. 

Psyche did as she was bid, and emerged from the thicket without 
much damage. But her companion was in a sorry plight, for, to 
save her, he had to sacrifice himself, and his face and hat were cov- 
ered with wheals and scratches. 

“I should think you must be glad that that performance is 
over,” laughed Psyche, riding up beside him as the track opened 
into a wider clearing. “Poor man! I declare you’re a mass of 
wounds. ” 

The tone of commiseration just gave Jack’s courage the necessary- 
fillip for springing the mine that would either waft him into regions 
of untold bliss, or blast and disperse his hopes of happiness. 

“Miss Danvers, I have something to tell you,” he began, with 
manifest agitation. To face the possibility of a refusal seemed 
worse to him now than charging a masked battery. 

“After all this painful preparation, it ought to be something 
extra agreeable,” replied the girl, turning towards him with a mis- 
chievous smile, which faded quickly away as her eyes met his, and 
she read in them the passion that was struggling to find vent for 
itself in language. 

“Psyche! dearest Psyche, will you listen to me patiently while I 
try to make you understand liow deeply — ” 

“Oh, Mr. Holdswortli, please don’t. 1 think I know wliat you 
want to say; and it’s no use. Pray, pray let us ride on, or we shall 
lose the hounds,” she said, in a voice of gentle entreaty. 

“ I can’t help it! I must speak— Psyche, I love you! I can’t tell 
you how much — but I can’t live without you.” 

The girl trembled slightly, and averted her head. There was no 
mistaking the manly fervor and earnestness of his tone. But she 
replied firmly, though gently, “I’m so sorry; but what you wish 
cannot be.” 


142 


V LOVE BE LOVE. 


“What do you mean? Can’t you like me; or do you doubt the 
truth of my love?” 

‘ ‘ I like you very much, and I believe all you say, but I don’t love 
you.” 

“Oh, Psyche, have pity on me. If you like me, surely I may 
hope that one day — ” 

“It’s no use. It really is no use; and I wish I could have spared 
you this.” 

“Spare me a little of your love. Do, darling; anything just to 
keep me from despair,” he cried, emboldened by the tender pity 
that shone in her eyes, moist with unshed tears. 

“Please don’t ask me any more. It pains me to have to refuse 
you. But you must know that love — love as I understand it, and 
such as your love deserves — cannot be forced, even by liking or 
pity, unless it already exists. You will find plenty of girls worthier 
than I am, and some day you will thank me for this.” 

“Never! I swear I never have loved, and never shall love, any 
woman but you. ” 

“We all think that at first, and sometimes it is true — with our 
sex.” 

Jack fired up at this. “It is true with me, and you have no 
right to doubt my honor. Put me to any test you like.” 

“I’ll grant that you’re the exception. Indeed, I didn’t mean to 
doubt your word for a moment. I only wished to console you.” 

“ There’s only one way of doing that,” said Jack, vehemently. 

“And that I cannot adopt,” replied the girl, sadly. “ Come, we 
have made each other unhappy enough for one day. Don’t let us 
lose our chance of sport.” 

“One moment! Answer me one question, and I’ll plague you no 
more. Do you love anybody else?” 

“ I don’t think you’ve any right to ask such a question,” she said, 
flushing up to the roots of her hair. 

“ I don’t ask it as a right, but as an act of mercy on your part.” 

Psyche pondered a minute, and replied, in a low voice, “I can 
hardly give you an answer; you wouldn’t understand. But this 
much I will tell you — I have made up my mind never to marry 
at all.” 

“That’s negative consolation. But such as it is I accept it; and 
I shall make up my mind to do the same until you have changed 
yours,” said Jack, decidedly. Then, as Psyche made no reply be- 
yond a gentle — and as it pleased him to imagine — slightly dubious 
shake of her head, he added, in a more cheerful tone, “Meanwhile 
I must content myself with your friendship. You won’t deprive 
me of that, will you?” 

“Certainly not; if you think it worth the keeping on these terms,” 
6he replied, her face lighting up with an arch smile. “ But mind, 
it engages me to nothing, nor you either. We are to be friends and 
nothing more.” 

“ A sort of armed neutrality, eh? Very well, I agree. Give me 
your hand on the pact.” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


148 


The girl raised her eyes to his, and frankly held out her hand. 
“Thank you,” said Jack, bending down, and before she could 
divine his intention, respectfully pressing it with his lips. “And 
now to find the hounds!” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ What reed was that on which I leant? 

Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake 

The old bitterness again, and break 

The low beginnings of content.” — T ennyson. 

Even before he had made Carmen’s acquaintance M. de Malsherbes 
had been accustomed to regard himself as a much ill-used mortal. 
But then his grievance had been against mankind in general and 
Fate in particular, and he had derived a certain gloomy satisfaction 
from the reflection that, by hiding the light of his countenance from 
liis fellow-men, he was amply avenging himself upon them, while 
in his hermit-like seclusion he could bid defiance to the fickle god- 
dess. Like a chrysalis, he was self-contained, and interposed a hard, 
dry covering of insensibility between his inner self and the interests 
and concerns of the world around him. If this was not happiness, 
at any rate it passed for contentment. 

But now all that was changed. Allured by the sunshine of wom- 
an’s beauty, he had ventured to burst his bonds, and, finding the 
warmth and light pleasant to bask in, had determined to shake off 
his deathlike lethargy and start existence afresh in the guise of a gay 
butterfly. Carmen was at once the means and the end of this fresh 
outburst of vital energy. She was his sunny flower-garden beyond 
whose boundaries he felt no desire to roam. To flutter about her. 
lost in admiration of her beauty, to taste the sweet nectar from her 
lips or listen to the music of her voice, was his new ideal of happi- 
ness. 

And then, to think that he was shut out from this paradise and 
cut off from all that made life worth living by the mere accident 
that she belonged to another, was simply maddening. For the first 
few months of their acquaintances!] ip, and during Vere’s absence in 
England, the vicomte had flattered himself that Carmen reciprocated 
his passion, and, with a fatuity which was almost sublime in its in- 
tensity, he was disposed to regard the obstructive husband with a 
certain degree of pity and indulgence. 

On Vere’s return he had quitted the chateau, not so much to avoid 
his rival as to spare Carmen the embarrassment of meeting her lover 
in the presence of her husband. True, the result of his intercourse 
with his bewitching neighbor had not been so satisfactory as he had 
anticipated. But he construed the skilful manner in which she had 
parried his attacks as a mere feminine artifice for saving appear- 


144 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


ances and for proving the strength of his attachment before taking 
the irrevocable step that would leave her at his mercy. 

When, therefore, he heard from Louise that the young couple had 
adjusted their differences, his despair and anger knew no bounds. 

His first impulse was to return to Boisy-la-Reine at once for the 
purpose of challenging his enemy to mortal combat. However, such 
reflection as he was capable of in his then excited state told him that 
to kill her husband, until he was assured that she was prepared to 
transfer her affections to himself, would only land him in a worse 
plight than ever. Then, too, there was always the possibility that 
he might fall before his adversary’s weapon; and little as he cared 
for life without Carmen, death would scarcely help him to her. 

Accordingly, he acted on the. advice of his confederate, who prom- 
ised, if he would remain quietly in Paris, to keep him informed of 
all that happened, and to give him the first intimation of anything 
likely to render the prosecution of his design practicable. “It is 
no longer with me a mere question of reward,” she wrote, “but of 
revenge. Our Englishman, who has always detested me, has induced 
madame to turn me away; and she, like the chicken-hearted creat- 
ure that she is, has told me that she no longer requires my services. 
Very good; then I offer them to you. I understand from Monsieur 
Bernard tjtoat there is a vacancy at the chateau. I will fill it, and 
you need not fear but that I shall find an opportunity of earning my 
wages.” To this tempting offer the vicomte sent a favorable reply, 
and when Louise quitted the chalet it was to the chateau that she 
directed her steps. 

Meanwhile the months rolled on, winter had sped away, and the 
forest was beginning to assume its robes of spring verdure, and still 
the conspirators waited and longed in vain for some chance of get- 
ting Carmen into their power. Nothing occurred to disturb the 
conjugal harmony that reigned at the chalet. Vere worked at his 
easel industriously, but contrived, nevertheless, to devote himself 
assiduously to the care and entertainment of his young wife, who 
was beginning to comprehend that love is not necessarily cold or 
dormant because it is not always indulging in romantic rhapsodies 
and noisy self-assertion. Her jealous fit had completely vanished, 
and although she had not renewed her correspondence with Psyche, 
and still carefully avoided any reference to M. de Malsherbes and 
his prolonged absence from the chateau, it was rather from shame 
at her past folly than from any dread of a rival in her husband’s 
affections, or desire to allow any one to supplant him in hers. She 
had even brought herself to take a lively interest in the picture on 
which Vere was lavishing his utmost care and skill with a view to 
its admission to the forth-coming exhibition of the Royal Academy. 
And he, delighted by this newly developed sympathy with his fa- 
vorite pursuit, did all in his power to heighten it by taking her into 
his confidence as regards his secret aims and ambition. 

“ You see. dearest, I want to prove to my father that I have not 
mistaken my vocation and turned out a total failure, as he seemed 
to anticipate. And to have a picture hung at Burlington House 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


145 


will bring it home to his mind better than half a dozen foreign di- 
plomas of merit. The old gentleman has a supreme contempt for 
everything un-English.” 

‘ ‘ Unless they are blind, they will not only accept your work, but 
offer it the place of honor,” cried Carmen, leaning her head against 
her husband’s shoulder under pretence of viewing the chef-d'oeuvre 
in a proper light. 

Yere laughed merrily as he pressed a kiss on her upturned face. 
“I can’t expect them to see it with your eyes, you little mass of 
prejudice. I declare, in your way, you are almost as bad as my 
father. ” 

“Then I think I shall like him if his weakness takes the same 
form as mine.” 

“And that is?” asked Yere, smiling. 

‘ ‘ Loving and admiring a certain great artist. I will not name 
him for fear you should become too vain,” said the girl, in a half 
whisper. The only reply Yere vouchsafed to this pleasant flattery 
was a deprecating shake of the head and a caressing movement of 
his hand over her shining hair. Presently Carmen resumed, ‘ ‘ I 
wish I had a mother and father to share my joys. How proud I 
should be to inform them that their little Carmen had become the 
wife of a man whose name will soon be known all over Europe. 
It is pleasant to shine, even if the light be only reflected.” 

“ Poor child! I think it was that which first drew me to you. It 
seemed so sad to see you all alone in the world, with nobody whose 
protection you could claim as a right,” said Yere, gently. 

“ I do not remember my mother ; she died when I was quite a lit- 
tle girl, out in South America, so I did not miss her so much. But 
my poor father, I was always with him and loved him so dearly. 
Do you know, Yere, I sometimes fancy that he is not dead, and that 
I shall see him again ;” and she lifted her moist eyes to her husband’s, 
as though seeking for confirmation of her hope. 

Yere felt puzzled what to say. Never before had Carmen spoken 
thus openly of her past life, and he, respecting her silence and fear- 
ing to arouse unhappy memories, had carefully avoided all reference 
to it. He had formed his own theories as to the cause of the myste- 
rious disappearance of Senor Mendes, founded on inquiries that he 
had instituted when he was in Paris before his marriage, but he 
scarcely liked to impart them to Carmen, who still held his memory 
in loving reverence. Yet, on the other hand, it seemed cruel to en- 
courage hopes that would probably never be realized. He chose a 
middle course. “ It seems hardly likely that if your father is alive, 
he would have remained silent all these years; still, stranger things 
have happened. He was engaged in some political intrigue, I am 
told, and it may have been necessary, for the sake of his personal safe- 
ty, that he should disappear for a while.” 

“ How do you know all this?” asked Carmen, breathlessly. 

“ I called on Monsieur Bergeron, his agent in Paris, and he told 
me all he knew.” 

‘ ‘ l thought there was something of the kind, because we so often 

JO 


146 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


moved from place to place quite suddenly. And my father was vis- 
ited by all sorts of strange-looking men.” 

“ Welt, at any rate, you will have soon a father and a mother to 
pet and love you, and sisters into the bargain. When I return from 
London, whether my picture is accepted or not I shall take you with 
me to Danverfield, and if all goes well we will make our home in 
England among my people,” said Yere, cheerily. 

“I hope they will like me. Do you think they will, Vere?” she 
asked, with a coquettish smile. 

‘ ‘ I defy them to help it. And if they don’t make you happy over 
there, we have always ourselves to fall back upon,” Vere replied, re- 
suming his work, while Carmen sank into a chair at his side, and 
sat pensively watching him until he laid aside his brushes for the 
day and summoned her for a stroll through the darkening forest be- 
fore dinner. 

Although Louise carefully avoided obtruding herself upon her late 
employers, she managed to keep herself well posted up as to all their 
movements. A clever diplomatist, and amiable enough when it suit- 
ed her purpose, she had pretended to conceive an ardent friendship 
for her successor at the chalet. Consequently, she was soon aware 
of Vere’s intention of journeying to London with his precious picture 
in April, and of returning for the purpose of escorting his wife to 
Danverfield when the summer was more advanced. Here was the 
opportunity for which she had waited. For although she was wom- 
an enough to know that Carmen, happy in her husband’s love, was 
not likely to encourage any further philandering on the part of M. 
de Malsherbes, still a fortress deprived of its garrison may fall by a 
coup-de-main, however stoutly barricaded its portals. 

This news the woman deemed of sufficient importance to merit a 
personal interview with her master. Accordingly, the day before 
the date fixed for Yere’s departure, Louise took train to Paris with 
the intention of rousing the vicomte to immediate action. What- 
ever her failings, want of fixity of purpose was not one of them. 
The hungering after a competency, and the persistency that bends 
everything to the attainment of its object, which is characteristic of 
the French peasant, was combined in her with an utter disbelief in 
virtue in her own sex, and a rankling sense of personal wrongs, which 
she hoped to requite on the other. Yere and Carmen had become 
the special objects of her hate, and to destroy their happiness she 
was prepared to go all lengths consistent with her own interests. 

M. de Malsherbes had taken up his abode in an unfashionable and 
unsavory hotel in the Quartier Latin. Here, amid the hubbub and tur- 
moil of student life, he was unrecognized and safe from observation. 
He passed for a cliairless professor, an unread poet, or a correspond- 
ent of a provincial newspaper at ten centimes a line. So long as he 
paid his modest rent, weekly in advance, he was free to come and 
go, sleep or idle, feast or starve, without hinderanee or comment. 
This life, dreary and uninteresting as it would have seemed in his 
younger days, when he affectioned the world of fashion, possessed a 
strange charm for him now. He loved to fancy himself £i second 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


147 


Haroun al Raschid, wandering in disguise among the people, or a 
political refugee hiding from the secret police, according as the ro- 
mantic or the mysterious mood predominated. Undoubtedly his 
fruitless passion for Carmen had further unhinged a mind already 
rusted tip with morbid imaginings and creaking from disuse. He 
spent most of his days in-doors writing verses, and wandered forth 
titter dusk enveloped in a long, black cloak, like a stage conspirator. 
The Boulevard St. Michel and the Jardin du Luxembourg were his 
favorite promenades, and he rarely crossed the Pont St. Michel to 
enter the more fashionable quartiers. The acute agonies of the love- 
feVer which he had suffered during the previous autumn were fast 
grouping themselves in his memory as a series of romantic tableaux, 
in which he, the Don Quixote of the Nineteenth Century, had grace- 
fully figured beside his peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, or as subject- 
matter for endless odes, in which Carmen and Hymen stood in rhym- 
ing juxtaposition. 

The unexpected appearance of Louise with the startling intelli- 
gence that his goddess was once more a tangible reality — a golden 
apple in the garden of the Hesperides, with the dragon removed- 
dazed and bewildered him. 

“You say she will be alone — unprotected; but what of that? I 
cannot force her to love me. You deceived me once before, and I 
only met with a cruel rebuff. Better let me worship in peace at a 
distance,” he cried, pacing the apartment with agitation. 

“ Monsieur, then, has altered his mind? He no longer cares for 
this beautiful creature, about whom he raved a short while ago,” said 
Louise, with a contemptuous smile. 

“Not at all. I love her more madly than ever. But what is the 
use of striving after the unattainable?” 

“ There is no such word where a woman is concerned and a man 
who has the courage to use his power.” 

“But she will not receive me, and I can’t drag her here by 
force.” 

“Perhaps not; but I can bring her to you of her own free-will.” 

“ Impossible! How would you do it? You told me yourself that 
she loves her husband.” 

“ How do you catch a mouse? Not by running after it yourself, 
but by setting a trap and baiting it skilfully.” 

M. de Malslierbes sighed and shook his head incredulously. “ Sup- 
posing even she falls into your trap, what then? You know how 
proud and passionate she is. Look how she treated me when last I 
had her in my power. She would never yield to force, and her 
heart is dead to love for me.” 

“But not to pity. Listen. Write her a letter as I will dictate; in- 
trust it to me, and see if I do not bring her to your side.” 

“I do not understand; but I will do as you advise.” 

Louise smiled triumphantly. “Simply write, ‘Your cruelty has 
broken my heart. I am dying for love of you. If you have one 
particle of pity and regret for the man whose life has been destroyed 
by your influence, give him the opportunity of bidding you a last 


148 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


farewell, and of assuring you of his forgiveness and unalterable de- 
votion.’ ” 

“ I have written it, but I doubt if that will induce her to quit her 
home,” said the vicomte, dubiously. 

“ We shall see. I will take this myself, and tell her that you are 
on your death-bed, too ill to move. She is vain, romantic, and credu- 
lous as any school-girl. The belief that she has caused your illness 
will utterly unnerve her, and she will feel bound to offer what repa- 
ration she can, particularly as she can do it without much risk— in 
her husband’s absence.” 

“When does he start ?” 

“To-morrow, I understand, and she is to stay at the Pension Dela- 
f oret while he is away, though I doubt if she will move for a day or 
two. ” 

“She will never forgive me when she discovers the ruse,” re- 
marked M. de Malsherbes, biting the end of his pen with a dolorous 
expression of countenance. 

“Courage, M. le Vicomte. I’ll guarantee that she will not only 
forgive, but adore you. Women forgive their lovers everything but 
indifference. ” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

“ The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 

Good and ill together.”— Shakespeare, 

Once again Vere had started on a solitary expedition to his na- 
tive land. This time, however, it was with Carmen’s ready consent 
and approval, and she accompanied her husband to the station and 
smiled her adieux through the tears which even this temporary sep- 
aration called to her eyes. 

Contrasting their present affectionate leave-taking with his pre- 
vious departure, Vere felt that he had every reason to be thankful 
for the “change that had come over the spirit of his dreams.” Then 
the sun of his wedded happiness seemed to have set forever; now it 
was at its zenith, and he could conceive of no possibility by which 
any but passing clouds could arise to dim its cheering brightness. 
By what means he had at length succeeded in striking the key-note 
that had awakened Carmen’s sympathies and set them atune with 
his own, he could not precisely tell ; whether he had bent to her or 
she had raised herself to him, still remained a metaphysical puzzle. 
But the fact was indisputable that in the past few months they had 
grown nearer to each other, not only in heart but in thought, and 
in that community of interest which enables man and wife to con- 
jugate the verb “ to love” in all its tenses and moods. 

To add to his contentment at this happy solution of the domestic 
problem were the high hopes which he entertained for the success of 
his picture. All his artist friends who had seen it pronounced it a 
work of exceptional merit, and a dealer in Paris had even proposed 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


149 


to purchase it, in the event of his failing to obtain a more favorable 
offer among his compatriots, on terms that were as flattering to his 
pride as they might prove advantageous to his pocket. Then, too, 
the news from Danverfield was most reassuring. His father, while 
still remaining more or less of an invalid, had partially recovered 
his memory, and with it the desire to be reconciled to his exiled son. 
Indeed, he had gone so far as to sign a letter written by Psyche at 
his dictation, inviting Vere and his wife to spend the summer in 
Yorkshire. 

Trite as the saying is that perfect happiness is not for this world, 
it is a truism that the favorites of the sorry jade are apt to forget or 
overlook. And wisely, perhaps, for why should we damp the de- 
light of our few short hours of bliss by gloomy anticipations of dis- 
asters which possibly it is not in our power to avert? 

Be that as it may, whether wise or foolish, Yere sped on his jour- 
ney in high spirits, and in happy ignorance of the thunderbolt that 
was about to fall from the smiling and cloudless heavens. 

******* 

It had been arranged that, on the afternoon following Yere’s de- 
parture, Carmen should quit the lonely chalet, and take up her abode 
during his absence at her old home, the Pension Delaforet. 

Mademoiselle Mathilde, having occupied herself busily during the 
morning in preparing a chamber of honor for her adopted daughter, 
now sat anxiously awaiting her arrival. 

Presently a vehicle drove up and stopped outside the grille. 

“ Tell the coachman to drive in. It will be easier for bringing in 
the luggage,” cried Mademoiselle Delaforet to her sister Clarisse, who 
was speeding down the garden to receive their visitor. 

Clarisse nodded assent, but stopped outside, apparently parleying 
with the driver, who had descended from the box, and made no 
sign of obeying the injunction. 

Mademoiselle Mathilde grew impatient. She was accustomed to 
prompt obedience, and could not understand why her sister should 
stand listening to the coachman instead of assisting Carmen to 
alight. 

“ What is the matter? Why don’t you let the dear child come 
in?” she cried, advancing towards them. 

Clarisse turned to meet her sister with a face expressive of the 
deepest anxiety. “Carmen has not come,” she gasped; “she has 
taken the train for Paris with a gentleman, and has sent you this 
note.*” 

Mademoiselle Mathilde felt her heart stand still with a sudden 
dread, but, mindful of her own dignity and of Carmen’s reputation, 
she mastered her emotion. “ Oh ! one of Monsieur Danvers’s friends, 
I suppose,” she replied, faintly; and, telling the driver to wait, di- 
rected her steps to her private sitting-room. 

Once free from observation, the old lady tore open the note with 
trembling fingers and read as follows: “ I am so sorry to disappoint 
you, but I am called to Paris on urgent business; will explain all 
later. Carmen.” 


ISO 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu! what has she done? the unhappy 
child!” she cried, sinking into a chair, and burying her face in her 
hands. Much as she loved Carmen, she had all along been disposed 
to place a more serious construction on her flirtation with M. de 
Malsherbes than Vere had done, and to her methodical and well- 
ordered mind, the girl’s renunciation of her folly and reconciliation 
with her husband had seemed too sudden and miraculous to be gen- 
uine and enduring. Nevertheless, the blow fell with crushing force, 
and tender pity strove in her heart with virtuous indignation as she 
pictured to herself the terrible consequences of this fresh act of mad- 
ness. 

A gentle tap at the door, followed by the entrance of her youngest 
sister, roused her to the necessity for prompt action. “Clarisse,” 
she exclaimed in a hoarse voice, “I can trust you. You will not 
betray the poor child’s guilty secret until we have exhausted all hope 
of saving her. Read this.” 

Mademoiselle Clarisse glanced through the hastily-scrawled epistle, 
and shook her head sadly. “I feared as much,” she said, “from 
what the coachman told me. But oh, what can have impelled her 
to this wickedness? How will her husband ever forgive her?” 

“Listen, child. It is no use wasting precious time in vain re- 
grets. The question is, how to bring her back before it is too late. 
I must start for Paris at once,” said Mademoiselle Mathilde, deci- 
sively. 

“But, my sister, there is no train for two hours, and you do not 
know where to seek her when you get there.” 

“Stay; Louise, that viper, is at the chateau, and she knows the 
vicorate’s address. I will drive there at once and wring it from her 
at any cost. ” 

“Let me go with you.” 

“No, I will go alone. The absence of two of us at once would 
give rise to strange surmises in the town. So far all is safe, and un- 
less she was remarked at the station, the gossips may think that I 
have only gone to spend the evening with her.” 

“But the driver?” 

“ He is only a man. There is nothing to fear from him. If nec- 
essary, I will make it worth his while to hold his tongue. What 
did he actually say had happened?” 

“ Simply this — that on the way here the carriage was stopped by 
a tall man, muffled in a long cloak, who was evidently expected by 
Carmen, as she invited him to take a seat beside her, and bade the 
coachman drive to the station instead of here.” 

“All planned beforehand! That makes it so much the worse,” 
cried Mademoiselle Delaforet, despairingly. “ How can the good 
God have created so vile a nature in so perfect a form?” 

“Helas! And this time she had not even the excuse of jealousy. 
No lover could have been more attentive and amiable than Monsieur 
Danvers has been since his return. In her condition, too, it is in- 
comprehensible and inexcusable. ” 

“ Hush, my sister. Let not us, who have never been subjected to 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


151 


the temptations to which great beauty and strong passions are liable, 
judge her too harshly,” cried the elder lady, who could not bear to 
hear her favorite spoken ill of by others, however much she herself 
might deem her worthy of reprobation. “And now bring me my 
bonnet and mantle, aud be sure you say nothing of all this to Hor- 
tense till my return.” 

Clarisse obeyed her sister’s behests with the promptitude gotten of 
long custom, and a few minutes later Mademoiselle Delaforet en- 
tered the vehicle and ordered the coachman to drive her with all 
speed to Beaurivage. 

“Tell Hortense, when she comes in, that Madame Danvers has 
gone to Paris on her husband’s business, and has written to ask me 
to aw^ait her return at the chalet,” she called out to Clarisse, for the 
benefit of the driver and of her own maid, who was standing by, all 
eyes and ears. Then, beckoning to her sister to come close, she 
whispered in her ear, “I shall spend this evening in gaining what in- 
formation 1 can; and to-morrow I shall start for Paris by the first 
train. Do not be uneasy on my account, and do not expect me till 
you see me. Above all, pray the Holy Virgin that I may bring our 
lost sheep back with me. Adieu.” 

Arrived at Beaurivage, after engaging the carriage for the morning 
Mademoiselle Mathilde proceeded to interrogate the astonished serv- 
ant as to Carmen’s proceedings subsequent to her husband’s de- 
parture. 

She learned that on the preceding evening Louise had called to 
see her former mistress, and had been closeted with her for some 
time. “After her departure,” said the woman, “ madame seemed 
very much out of temper and unhappy. I heard her exclaim that 
she had brought this insult on herselr, and regret that she had al- 
lowed monsieur to go without her. This morning she was still de- 
pressed, and complained of headache. So, being a fine day, I per- 
suaded her to take a walk in the forest while I packed her boxes. 
When she returned, she said her head was better, but she appeared 
to be in a state of great excitement. Instead of taking her dejeuner 
as usual, she packed a small basket, and telling me she was going to 
picnic in the forest, remained out till half an hour before the car- 
riage arrived. That is all I know. I hope nothing has happened to 
madame. Is she, then, not with you, mademoiselle?” 

Mademoiselle Mathilde repeated in as careless a tone as she could 
assume the explanation she had fabricated for her own household; 
and after bidding the woman prepare some dinner and a room for 
her, she directed her steps towards the chateau. 

In the dim twilight the extensive range of unoccupied buildings, 
encircled by the sombre forest, and unrelieved by interior illumina- 
tion, rose before her like a house of the dead. The keen March 
wind, sighing dismally through the trees, kept the emblazoned 
weathercocks in a perpetual state of creaking and uneasy motion, 
causing them to emit sounds the reverse of tuneful or enlivening. 

Mademoiselle Delaforet could not repress a shudder as she ap- 
proached the entrance and fumbled about until she found the bell. 


152 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


After a long interval her straining ear caught the sound of approach- 
ing footsteps. Pitful gleams of light flashed through the barred 
windows, there was a clanking of chains, a withdrawal of bolts, and 
the door was slowly opened. 

“Who is it?” asked a voice, which she recognized as that of the 
woman she had come to see. 

“It is I, Mademoiselle Delaforet; I want to talk to you a little 
moment.” 

“ Mademoiselle Delaforet! at this time of day, or, rather, of night. 
What can have brought you here? Pray come in,” said Louise, in 
her most mellifluous tones, opening the door wide. 

“ I must speak with you quite alone,” said the old lady, glancing 
hurriedly round the spacious marble-paved hall, in which the single 
flickering lamp sufficed but to make darkness visible. 

“ There is no fear of interruption, we are not overcrowded here,” 
replied the woman, with a coarse, grating laugh. “Besides myself, 
there is only Monsieur Bernard and his wife, and both are in the 
kitchen, and more or less deaf. Be pleased to step in here.” 

Mademoiselle Delaforet followed her guide into the oak-panelled 
dining-room, and began without further preface: “ I want you to give 
me the address of M. le Vicomte in Paris.’* 

“For what purpose, if I may ask?” 

“There is no need to ask. You are his confidante and emissary. 
You were at the chalet yesterday, the bearer of his base proposals. 
I know all, it is useless to attempt concealment with me,” said Mad- 
emoiselle Mathilde, sternly. 

“Mademoiselle does me too much honor, but I fail to see for what 
intent she requires the address of M. le Vicomte, or that I should be 
justified in giving that which he desires withheld.” 

“ Woman, you will drive me mad with your equivocations. I tell 
you I must and will save my poor child from this wicked man.” 

“ It is mademoiselle who talks in riddles. What have I to do with 
Madame Danvers, to whom I presume you refer?” 

“You know where she is. You know he has enticed her away 
from her home and friends — ” 

“Is she not with you?” asked the woman, in tones of well-feigned 
surprise. 4 ‘ She told me only yesterday that she had decided to pay 
you a visit. She did not receive me too graciously, I can assure 
you.” 

44 Will you or will you not tell me where she is?” asked Mademoi- 
selle Mathilde, struggling to contain her wrath. 

“ How can I tell when I do not know myself?” 

“It’s a lie! Madame Danvers left for Paris this afternoon with 
your vile master.” 

“Impossible!” cried Louise, staring at her interlocutor in blank 
astonishment. Then added, in a tone of concentrated hate, “ I wish 
it were true.” 

“ Have you no shame — no pity for a young and thoughtless girl 
— that you gloat over her ruin? What harm has she ever done you?” 

“Who pitied me when my husband beat me, deceived me, and 


If love: be love. 


153 


finally ran away and left me without a sou in the world? Nobody— 
and why? Because I was only a poor peasant girl. Had I been a 
fine lady, with airs and graces and lovers, like this spoiled darling, 
it would have been different. What harm has she done me? She 
has insulted me with her insolent happiness, and I hate her and her 
husband and her unborn child, that’s all!” 

“Then you refuse to help me to save her?” asked Mademoiselle 
Delaforet, almost terrified at the vehemence and intensity of the 
woman’s passion. 

“I not only refuse, but I will do everything in my power to 
thwart you. She turned against me. Good! It is my turn now. 
She shall suffer what I have suffered. She shall know what it is to 
be deserted and friendless — an outcast, without home and character 
— to be pointed at and scouted by all respectable persons. Oh, but 
I tell you, all you good people have much to answer for. And you 
are such blind fools too! You magnify our misfortunes into crimes; 
you treat us as reprobates and savages, and then, when we become 
the wild beasts you have made us, you preach to us of pity and for- 
giveness— merci! Revenge is the only luxury you have left us, and 
we enjoy it, I can tell you.” 

Mademoiselle Delaforet, accustomed to the unquestioned dictator- 
ship of her little republic, had grown to pride herself upon her 
strength of nerve and power of will. But she was forced to confess 
that the woman who confronted her had shaken the one and suc- 
cessfully defied the other. Doubtless the unexpectedness of so furi- 
ous an onslaught, and the circumstances and surroundings, tended 
to increase her sense of terror and helplessness. But the fact re- 
mained that she was beaten all along the line, and her one desire was 
to effect a speedy retreat. She moved slowly towards the door, fol- 
lowed by Louise, whose face still wore an "expression of gratified 
malignity. 

Once outside the house, the old lady’s courage revived to some ex- 
tent, and she turned to fire a parting shot at her adversary. “ You 
are playing a dangerous game,” she cried in a quavering voice. 
“You forget that there are commissaries of police and judges to 
deal with such as you.” 

“Bah! I snap my fingers at them. Neither you nor they can 
prove anything against me. I am the servant of M. de Malsherbes, 
and not the guardian of the virtue of your flighty favorite, formerly 
the respectable Madame Danvers — now, what shall we call her?” 
With these words and a mocking laugh, the woman terminated the 
interview by closing the door in the poor lady’s face. 

Utterly discomfited and discouraged. Mademoiselle Delaforet wend- 
ed her way back to the chalet, where she passed the night in re- 
volving in her mind a thousand different schemes for Carmen’s re- 
covery. Torture her brain as she would, she could find no escape 
from the terrible necessity of informing Vere of his wife’s miscon- 
duct. Her idea of following the unhappy girl to Paris, and of res- 
cuing her from the clutches of M. de Malsherbes, was frustrated by 
the obstinacy of his confederate. And not only that, but all hopes 


154 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


of hushing up the scandal that would accompany a public exposure 
were destroyed. Without knowing the vicomte’s whereabouts in 
Paris, a journey to the great city would be so much precious time 
wasted, and until she had consulted the injured husband, she felt 
that she had no right to place the matter in the hands of the police. 
Thus, in despair on the following morning she called at the telegraph- 
office on her way home and despatched an urgent message, informing 
Vere of his wife’s disappearance, and begging him to return imme- 
diately. 

* * * * * * * 

Twenty-four hours of restless anxiety, of weary waiting, accentu- 
ated by the misery of enforced inaction, elapsed before Yere arrived 
at the Pension in answer to this summons. 

“Have you any news of her? Has she come back?” he asked ea- 
gerly, without pausing to go through the customary salutations. 

Mademoiselle Delaforet looked up into his pale face and blood- 
shot eyes, which told of grief and anxiety too deep for words, and 
shook her head sadly. “Nothing but this — the note announcing 
her departure.” 

‘ ‘ There is some villany in this, and that hound, De Malsherbes, is 
at the bottom of it,” he exclaimed, fiercely. 

4 4 1 fear so. Louise was at the chalet the evening you left, and 
the next day Carmen departed for Paris with a man ; my informant 
did not recognize him, but the description answers to that of the vi- 
comte.” 

44 Pray tell me all you know, and have done. Omit nothing; the 
smallest details may be of importance.” 

Thus urged, Mademoiselle Delaforet gave an account of her visit 
to Beaurivage, and of her interview with Louise. 

While she spoke, Yere listened in stony silence. 44 Then you failed 
to discover his address?” he said, at length. “ Surely, by threats or 
bribes, the woman could be made to speak. ” 

“Helas! I doubt it. She is a demon. You should have seen 
and heard her as I did.” 

“ But the intendant — Monsieur Bernard!” 

“I did not think of him. Though I doubt if he knows.” 

“At any rate, it is worth the trial. I will go there at once,” said 
Yere, taking his hat and quitting the apartment as brusquely as he 
had entered it. 

The conveyance that had brought him from the station was wait- 
ing outside, so that, in a few minutes, he was on his way to the cha- 
teau. 

Later in the day Mademoiselle Delaforet received a note from 
Vere, which ran thus: “I have succeeded in obtaining the address, 
and am starting for Paris. Louise left yesterday, presumably to put 
M. de M on his guard ; but he shall not escape me. ” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


155 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ Diseases desperate grown, 

By desperate appliances are relieved, 

Or not at all.”— S hakespeare. 

Most men and women — at any rate, until they have reached the 
stage of the “sere and yellow leaf,” when romance and passion have 
become undefined memories of a far-off past — are at times governed 
by sudden impulses and gusts of capricious fancy, which override 
the dictates of reason and set worldly wisdom and even self-interest 
at defiance. 

In no department of human affairs is this more noticeable than in 
that relating to the affections. The “ rule of contrary,” a game dear 
to the nursery, is not unfrequently followed in bitter earnest by 
grown-up children in their mutual lovings and hatings. “Mais si 
tu m’aimes, je ne t’aime pas,” expresses the attitude vn-d-vis to each 
other of countless youths and maidens who appear otherwise to be 
gifted with both amiability and common-sense. 

Jack Holdsworth was an example of this class of amatory Irrec- 
oncilables, whose hearts are always in opposition — “out of pure 
cussedness,” as a Yankee would say. His love for Psyche which 
owed its birth to her frank raillery and evident absence of sentiment- 
al attraction for his manly person and undeniable social position, 
had only attained its full growth when her point-blank refusal of 
his hand seemed to place her forever out of his reach. 

In vain he argued with himself that he was a fool to go on lavish- 
ing his affections on a girl who declined to accept them when there 
were plenty of better looking and wealthier Andromedas ready to 
welcome any eligible Perseus who would rescue them from the rock 
of enforced celibacy. He remained blind to all feminine charms 
save those that were denied to him, and, regardless of the contrary 
result in his own case, made up his mind that as such love as his 
must eventually call forth an answering love in Psyche’s bosom, he 
had only to persevere in order to be eventually rewarded. 

Their pact of friendship proved but an ingenious device for sharp- 
ening his torments,- for Psyche, in her desire to make what amends 
she could for his disappointment, and having besides a genuine lik- 
ing for the young fellow, was pleasant and kind to the point of pos- 
itive cruelty. Actuated by feminine curiosity and a spirit of con- 
trariety not unprecedented in the most tender-hearted of her sex, she 
occasionally probed his wounds in order to ascertain for her own 
satisfaction how deep they were. And then, when the sufferer, 
galled beyond endurance, turned on her with fierce reproaches, or 


156 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


reading in the interest she evinced in his mental condition evidence 
of an awakening affection, strove to urge his suit in tones of impas- 
sioned tenderness, she froze instantly, and began to upbraid him 
with the breach of their friendly understanding. 

Before he left the neighborhood to rejoin his regiment, poor Jack, 
pocketing his dignity, made another unsuccessful appeal, and then, 
wounded to the quick by her apparent heartlessness, he violently 
annulled their treaty of friendship, and departed vowing eternal 
hatred to the entire sex, and more madly in love with Psyche than 
ever. 

During the next few months he tried alternate doses of hard work 
and dissipation as a cure for his malady. Always more or less of a 
“thruster,” he now rode to hounds with the recklessness of a man 
tired of life and seeking to break his neck by way of a diversion. 
As is generally the case with those who fearlessly affront danger, he 
had the most hair-breadth escapes, and emerged from numberless 
“ purlers” and “ crowners ” bruised and breathless, but substantially 
unhurt. 

One day, however, his good or — as he sometimes termed it — his 
evil luck forsook him, and he was conveyed to the nearest house on 
a hurdle, a mangled and bleeding mass. In madly forcing his horse 
over some impossible obstacle, the poor brute had fallen heavily, 
crushing his rider beneath him. 

For days Jack’s life hung by a thread. His mother and sister 
were telegraphed for, and arrived from the Riviera scarcely ventur- 
ing to hope for more than that they might be in time to soothe his 
dying moments. But eventually his youthful vitality and strong 
constitution triumphed, and when the fever left him, he had only a 
crippled arm and the impress of an iron shoe on the side of his head 
to remind him of his narrow escape. 

Jack being pronounced out of danger, and well on the road to 
convalescence, Mrs. Holdsworth, who was a chronic invalid, and 
under medical orders, returned to the “sunny South ’’with her 
daughter, having extracted a promise from Jack that he would join 
them there for the remainder of his sick leave as soon as he was 
capable of bearing the journey. . 

Psyche, of course, had heard of young Holdsworth’s accident 
through Captain Compton, and her feelings may be more easily im- 
agined than described. She had never concealed from herself that 
she entertained for the young man a more than ordinary regard, and 
had it not been for the memory of her dead and hopeless love for 
Vere, which made the mere thought of any fresh attachment seem a 
sort of sacrilege, her liking — as she now felt constrained to admit— 
might have soon ripened into something warmer. 

In her first agony of fear and remorse, the girl’s eyes wdte opened 
to the fact that her luckless suitor had occupied a larger place in 
her heart than she had ever imagined. The tender sentimental fan- 
cy for her cousin which owed its continuance to her intense sympathy 
and loyalty, while he was persecuted and in trouble, had faded im- 
perceptibly as she found that she was no longer indispensable to 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


157 


Vere's happiness. It had received its death-blow when she learned 
that he and Carmen had overcome their differences, and were united 
not only in name but in affection ; and from its ashes, wakened by 
the shock of the tidings that her bright young lover was dying, the 
new passion sprang Phoenix-like into life and strength. 

How bitterly she reproached herself with being indirectly the 
cause of Jack’s mishap. How she longed to fly to his side, and ask 
his forgiveness for her blindness in ignoring and repressing the love 
he had so ardently pleaded for, and which she was now ready to 
accord. 

The relief and joy of all his other friends put together could not 
have exceeded Psyche’s when she heard that Jack’s recovery was no 
longer doubtful, for, womanlike, she deemed that love deep enough 
to drive him to desperation on her account must still be hers, even 
though she might no longer dare to claim it. Notwithstanding that 
his projected departure for Cannes would preclude all present pos- 
sibility of their meeting, she was filled with silent thankfulness, and 
accepted the uncertainty of the future as a righteous retribution for 
her own past folly. 

How true it is that we rarely recognize our happiness as such un- 
til we have lost it. The every-day blessings of health and strength, 
of mental and bodily exercise and recreation, are too often over- 
looked in the vain strivings after some unattainable ideal. But let 
anything occur to interrupt the smooth revolutions of our wheel of 
life, and to put its wondrous mechanism ever so little out of gear, 
and we soon learn to appreciate and to pine after the comforts and 
pleasures in which we can no longer share. 

Such, or something to the same effect, was the tone of young 
Holdsworth’s reflections as he lay prostrate, weak and helpless as a 
child, during his first days of returning consciousness. Then inter- 
vened a period of placid content, when budding hope succeeded 
dark despair, followed by the impatience of daily increasing strength 
to shake off its invalid’s fetters, and to enter with renewed zest and 
vigor into the pursuits of active life. 

At -length the doctor yielded to his patient’s impbrtunity and 
sanctioned the proposed journey southward. It was not only filial 
affection and the desire to turn his back on the scene of his late 
suffering that prompted the young man’s speedy departure. Dur- 
ing his convalescence he had given much thought to his position in 
regard to Psyche. That he still loved her he found it impossible to 
deny, but since it was evident that she could not return his affec- 
tion, he determined not to allow a hopeless passion to blight his 
whole life and prospects. There were other things in the world 
worthy o*f attainment besides a woman’s love, and although she 
would ever remain enshrined in his heart as a model of all that was 
beautiful and desirable in her sex, he would do his best to forget his 
unfortunate attachment. 

Having been strictly enjoined not to overtax his strength by pro- 
longed journeys, Jack spent a few days in London before starting 
for Paris, his next resting-place. He was thus able to appreciate 


158 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


the pleasant contrast between the gay French capital in the full tide 
of the Easter festivities and the gloom of our own overgrown me- 
tropolis, where the fogs and mud of winter had only given place to 
nipping east winds and clouds of dust scarcely less depressing. 
The Hotel Continental, where he had engaged rooms, was crowded 
with visitors, mostly hailing from the other side of the Atlantic, 
and their alert and business-like method of pleasure-seeking, and 
quaint expressions and mannerisms when they met to talk over their 
day’s excursions and experience, were a source of unfailing enter- 
tainment to Jack, who, like most convalescents, was disposed to be 
readily amused. 

One evening the small table at which he dined was shared by a 
young Englishman of prepossessing appearance, who seemed to 
Jack’s observant eyes to be under the influence of some overmas- 
tering emotion. His manner of eating and drinking, the way in 
which he gazed at the waiters when they addressed him, and fidg- 
eted with his watch between the courses, contrasted strangely with 
the cold indifference with which he rebuffed young Holdsworth’s 
attempts to enter into friendly converse. Jack was naturally very 
good-tempered, and not prone to take offence at trifles, but his 
neighbor’s strange behavior went very near to upsetting his equa- 
nimity. Two or three times he discovered the man’s eyes fixed 
upon him with an expression of fierce malignit}^, but as the stranger 
withdrew his gaze as soon as he felt he was observed, Jack mentally 
branded him as a lunatic, and left him to his own devices. 

It so happened that during the evening the two young men found 
themselves again in close proximity in the smoking-room. While 
Jack was meditating a change of position, he was hailed by a broth- 
er-officer who was passing through Paris on his way home from 
India. Of course the two former comrades had plenty to say to 
each other, and Jack was called upon for a detailed account of his 
accident, and of all that preceded it of hunting and regimental in- 
terest. 

When his friend had taken his departure, Jack was astonished to 
find himself suddenly confronted by the stranger. 

“I beg your pardon,” he began, ‘ r but is your name Holdsworth?” 

“ It is,” replied Jack, curtly. 

“ I’m afraid you’ll think me very rude, but the fact is, I overheard 
part of your conversation, and learning who you are, and as you 
probably know me by name, I thought I might presume to introduce 
myself as a friend of friends of yours,” said the other, speaking 
rapidly and in evident confusion. 

“Confidence trick!” ejaculated young Holdsworth, under his 
breath. Then, in a tone of marked indifference and incredulity, he 
said aloud, “And pray, sir, what is your name?” 

“ Yere Danvers.” 

“Impossible! I beg your pardon, but it seems so strange. Are 
you really the Yere Danvers that Psyche— Miss Danvers— was al- 
ways talking about?” said Jack, reddening at his own crudeness of 
speech occasioned by surprise. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


159 


■“ Quite as possible, I assure you, as that you are the Lieutenant 
Holdsworth about whom my cousin, Miss Danvers, is always writing 
to me, ’’replied Vere, abandoning his constrained manner. “ I have 
a letter somewhere in which she informs me of your sad accident. 
Here it is, and here is another, in which she says there are hopes for 
your recovery. I am glad to see they have been fulfilled.” 

“ Thanks very much,” said Jack, heartily, convinced by a glimpse 
of Psyche’s handwriting of his companion’s identity, and wishing to 
make amends for his apparent rudeness. “Fact is, 1 didn’t expect 
to meet you here. You quite took me by surprise, don’t you know.” 

‘‘Pray don’t apologize; you must have thought me slightly in- 
sane, as, in fact, 1 am,” rejoined Yere, with a bitter smile. “ I’m in 
sad trouble, and in no state for polite society; but I need a friend 
instantly, a man in whose honor I can trust and who w ill see me 
through a difficulty, Hearing your name mentioned, and knowing 
that Psyche has so good an opinion of you, I thought I would vent- 
ure to ask your help. Of course I shall expect you to treat me as 
unceremoniously as I have you, and to refuse if you think fit.” 

“ Anything I can do, I shall be very pleased,” murmured Jack. 

“ I may as well come to the point at once. I want you to be*my 
second in a duel.” 

Young Holdsworth whistled softly through his teeth. “That’s a 
rum go! Rather out of date, isn’t it?” 

“ If you are inclined to help me, come up into my room, and I’ll 
tell you all about it. There are too many people about here, and I 
do not want my injury published to the world until it has been 
avenged.” 

Thus urged, Jack followed his new friend up-stairs, and listened 
patiently while he narrated the circumstances of Carmen’s disap- 
pearance, arid his suspicions that she had been decoyed from her 
home by M. de Malsherbes. “I only returned from London this 
morning; after considerable difficulty I have succeeded in discover- 
ing the vicomte’s address in Paris. I called there once this after- 
noon, but was told that he was out— probably making arrangements 
for his flight,” said Vere, grinding his teeth with suppressed wrath. 
“ The concierge said he was certain to return this evening, so I pur-* 
pose calling upon him at once, to demand an explanation. He is a 
gentleman by birth, and, of course, cannot refuse me satisfaction. 
My only difficulty has been to secure a trusty friend, to see that all 
is fair between us, and to explain matters to my people at home if 1 
fall. Will you do me this service?” 

“I will,” replied Jack, grasping his hand. “It’s the first time 
I’ve been mixed up in an affair of the sort, but I’ll do my best to 
see you through, and I hope } r ou kill the rascally hound.” 

“I mean to try, ’’said Yere, with an air of quiet determination. 
Then, without further parley, the two young men descended into 
the court-yard, and, calling a fiacre, were driven off in the direction 
of the Boulevard St. Michel. 

Learning from the concierge that Monsieur Victor, the appellation 
under which the vicofite was known in the Quartier, was within, 


160 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Vere, followed by Jack, mounted the rickety stairs that led to his 
apartment without waiting to be announced. As they stood outside 
the door they could hear distinctly the voices of a man and a wom- 
an in loud colloquy, and for a moment Yere’s heart stood still in 
mingled dread and hope that he might recognize Carmen’s low con- 
tralto tones. Then, mastering his emotion, he knocked loudly. The 
conversation ceased, and the door was opened by Louise, who grinned 
maliciously at her late master as she ushered him into the room. 

M. de Malsherbes, who "was attired in a flowing dressing-gown, 
rose to receive his unexpected visitors with the utmost courtesy, and 
begged them to be seated. 

“We shall not detain you long, and we prefer to stand,” replied 
Yere, curtly. 

“ As you please, gentlemen. A nd now, may I ask to what I owe 
the honor of this visit? It is somewhat past the hour for a ceremo- 
nious call, so I will make no apology for my deshabille .” 

“Will you be so good as to tell that woman to leave the room? 
My business is of a strictly private nature,” said Yere, striving to 
speak calmly. 

“ Certainly,” replied the vicomte, in a tone of exquisite politeness. 
“Louise, you can retire.” 

“And now to answer your question,” said Yere, as the woman 
closed the door behind her. “You asked me why I have intruded 
myself upon you. I am come to force you to tell me what you have 
done with my wife.” 

“My dear sir, what an extraordinary errand!” replied the vicomte, 
with the most provoking sang-froid. 

“ Don’t bandy words with me, or I shall forget myself and knock 
you down, ’’cried Yere, in a fit of ungovernable rage. 

‘ ‘ Gentlemen, you are two to one, and 1 am unarmed. If you are 
determined to fight, we will talk of that afterwards; but pray let us 
avoid a scandal,” said M. de Malsherbes, with a deprecating gesture. 

“Steady yourself, old man. He is right as far as the logic goes," 
remarked Jack, in his native tongue, pulling his friend by the sleeve. 

‘ ‘ It’s no good spoiling his beauty if you are to have the opportunity 
of putting a bullet through him.” 

“ I do not quite understand your friend, to whom, by-tlie-way,you 
have not introduced me; but I judge that he counsels gentlemanly 
behavior,” said the vicomte, with a veiled sarcasm that made Yere’s 
blood boil. However, by a violent effort of will, he mastered his 
passion, and apologizing for the oversight, presented young Holds- 
worth in due form. 

M. de Malsherbes gracefully returned Jack’s frigid salutation, and 
then addressed himself to him. “It is usual, sir, in affairs of honor 
—such as I judge your friend is anxious to engage in with me— for 
third parties to settle the necessary arrangements. If j'-ou will do me 
the honor of calling again to-morrow, I shall be prepared with a 
second.” 

Jack, as he bowed in reply, muttered in an undertone to Yere 
“That may mean sloping.” 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


161 


“ This is no ordinary affair, and I refuse to be governed by your 
empty forms and ceremonies,” broke in Yere. “For the last time, 
I ask you, where is my wife?” 

“ I am not your wife’s keeper. I wish I were,” said the vicomte, 
in an insulting tone. Then turning his back on his irate adversary, 
“ Listen, M. le Lieutenant. This gentleman, whom I already have 
no cause to love, whom, to speak plainly, I hate, has chosen to thrust 
a quarrel upon me. Very good ; I thank him from the bottom of my 
heart, and I will meet him when and where you please. Only, I 
insist upon the proper observance of the code of honor settled for 
such encounters, and I refuse to hold any further personal commu- 
nication with him, or to reply to any of his questions. If he mo- 
lests me further, I shall send for the police. That is my last word.” 

“ It’s very awkward, but I suppose we must chance it,” said Jack, 
taking Yere by the arm. “ Come along, old fellow; we can’t do 
any good by waiting here, and I think he means fighting; he looks 
so spiteful.” 

Yere, utterly unstrung by the unsuccessful issue of his visit, so far 
as discovering Carmen was concerned, followed his friend to the 
door, reeling like a drunken man. 

Meanwhile M. de Malsherbes rang the bell, and Louise appeared. 
“ Show these gentlemen out, ’’lie said, in a tone of normal politeness. 
‘ ‘ Gentlemen, I wish you good-evening. ” 

“I shall wait upon you to-morrow about noon if that will suit 
you,” said Jack, in his best French, as he returned the vicomte’s sal- 
utation. 

“Perfectly; my friend shall be here to meet you. Au revoir, M. 
le Lieutenant. ” 


CHAPTER XXY. 

“O woman! In oar hours of ease 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 

When pain and anguish wring the brow, 

A ministering angel — thou.” — S cott. 

After bidding Yere farewell at the station, Carmen had driven 
back to the chalet and devoted the remainder of the afternoon to 
preparation for her temporary demenagement on the following day. 

How dear her husband had become to her during the past few 
months she was able to gauge by the blank in her existence which 
the prospect of even this short separation seemed to occasion. As 
the evening drew on, her depression increased, and the sight of his 
unoccupied chair at the dinner-table deprived her of all appetite. 

“It is no use, I cannot eat alone,” she said, in answer to her 
maid’s good-natured remonstrances as one dish after another was 
sent away untasted. 

“ Madame will get accustomed to it by-and-by,” remarked Marie, 
with a philosophizing air. “Few husbands are so attentive as 

11 


162 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


monsieur, but even he must require a little holiday sometimes. 
Though why he chooses to go to that land of fogs I cannot imag- 
ine. ” 

“You must not say anything against England, Marie. It is my 
husband’s countrv, and he loves it. Besides, he has gone on busi- 
ness, and not to amuse himself,” replied Carmen, for the sake of 
keeping up the conversation. “Hark! There’s somebody at the 
front-door. Go, see who it is. Who can be coming to see me at 
this late hour?” 

Marie left the room, and after a short parley in the hall returned 
to inform her mistress that Louise from the chateau wished to speak 
with her on a matter of extreme urgency. 

Carmen pondered for a few moments. She feared and disliked 
her former servant, and was more than half inclined to refuse her 
an audience. However, curiosity and the longing to have some one 
to talk to carried the day, and she desired Marie to show the wom- 
an in. 

“I am the bearer of evil news,” began Louise in a tragic voice, 
presenting the letter which M. de Malsherbes had written to her dic- 
tation at their last interview. 

Carmen glanced through the few shakily -written lines and turned 
pale. “ Is it true? Is he really dying?” she asked. 

“I fear so. He is suffering from the heart, and the doctors hold 
out no hopes of his recovery.” 

“Poor man, I am so sorry; but what can I do? What he asks is 
impossible.” 

“How impossible? You did not scruple to win his heart when 
it was whole, and now it is broken by your cruel treatment you 
cannot refuse to grant his dying request,” exclaimed the woman, 
with well-feigned astonishment and indignation. 

“But my husband, if he should hear of it! Besides, I never cared 
for M. de Malsherbes, and I told him so when he persisted in insult- 
ing me with his odious addresses; you know, when — ” 

‘ ‘ And do you suppose that a man whom you have befooled and 
encouraged up to the point that he believes his love is returned, and 
then threw over to suit your own convenience, can treat the matter 
so lightly?” exclaimed Louise, violently. “ No, madame, his death 
is at your door, and the smallest reparation you can make is to see 
him once more and receive his forgiveness, poor gentleman.” 

Carmen hesitated. Her romantic turn of mind rendered her an 
easy dupe to this trumped-up story; but, although she was credu- 
lous, she had awakened to a keener sense of what was right and 
wrong, and that she should again imperil her reputation by visiting 
this man in her husband’s absence seemed monstrous. 

“ Tell him I am very, very sorry if my folly is the cause of his 
illness, but I cannot and must not renew it,” she said at last, with 
tears in her eyes. 

“Where’s the harm? Your husband need never know. And 
surely you cannot be so hard-hearted as to let your lover die with- 
out one word of sympathy and kindness. His only fault, if fault it 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


163 


be, was loving you too well, and for that you are yourself mainly 
answerable. ” 

“I don’t deny that I was weak, selfish— wicked, if you like. But 
I have not only myself to consider,” replied Carmen, in a low voice. 

“You think your husband a paragon, no doubt; most young 
wives do till they find out the contrary. How about la belle cousine 
that he has gone to visit over there?” 

“Louise, you forget yourself,” exclaimed Carmen, angrily. “I 
am no longer the child that I was when you tried to ruin my happi- 
ness with your wicked counsels, and nearly succeeded. I know my 
husband too well now to be frightened by any bugbear of jealousy.” 

“Pray accept my congratulations on your rapid advance in 
knowledge,” replied the woman, with a mocking smile. “But, for 
the sake of your husband’s love, which you so justly prize, I would 
advise you to be careful how you force M. le Vicomte to become 
your enemy. A desperate man is dangerous even when he is 
dying. ” 

“What harm can he do me— more than he attempted to do?” 

“Have you forgotten that Monsieur Danvers has never yet been 
informed of your conduct during his last absence? Suppose M. 
de Malsherbes were to write and tell him of the pleasant little tete- 
d-tete interviews you were amiable enough to grant him?” 

“ M. de Malsherbes is a gentleman!” interrupted Carmen, scorn- 
fully. 

“ Yes; but he is a man, and a rejected lover, and revenge is sweet. 
He did not bid me tell you in so many words, but he gave me to 
understand that, if you were obdurate, he would not answer for the 
consequences.” 

“Very well, then, you may tell him that I despise his threats as 
much as I loath his former base attempts to impose on my igno- 
rance and folly,” cried Carmen, thoroughly roused. “I am glad 
you have thrown off the mask; for now I no longer reproach myself 
on his account, but solely on my own and on my husband’s, to 
whom I am determined to tell everything just as it happened.” 

Before Louise had recovered from the effects of this vigorous and 
unexpected riposte, Carmen summoned Marie to show her out, and 
the discomfited envoy retired, muttering curses on her own stupidi- 
ty and the girl’s obstinate refusal to fall into the trap so carefully 
prepared for her. 

The next morning Carmen awoke with a headache, the result of 
over-excitement and a night spent in vain regrets that she had not 
sooner found courage to unburden her conscience and seek Yere’s 
forgiveness for her past misconduct. It was only now that she was 
fully able to appreciate the terrible risks to which she had subjected 
herself in the gratification of her anger and vanity, and she dreaded 
the effects such a confession of weakness would have on a mind 
like her husband’s. However, with all her faults, cowardice, either 
moral or physical, was not one of Carmen’s failings, and she deter- 
mined to make a clean breast of it at the earliest possible moment, 
feeling tbat it would be far easier for her to act as her own accuser 


164 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


than to live in the dread of having to rebut the garbled account of 
her unwise proceedings, which might at any time be furnished by 
M. de Malsherbes or his minion. 

Tempted by the bright beauty of the morning, Carmen deter- 
mined to seek relief from her anxious thoughts in physical exer- 
cise. Accordingly, she sallied forth for a stroll in the forest, and 
had not proceeded far when the sound of a foot-fall behind her 
caused her to turn her head. To her no small alarm, she discovered 
that she was being followed by a man muffled in a long black cloak. 
A large slouch hat of the sombrero type partially concealed his feat- 
ures, but something in his figure and movements seemed familiar to 
her. Instantly she imagined that her pursuer was none other than 
M. de Malsherbes. But if so, what of Louise’s story of his lying on 
his death-bed in Paris? In any case, the apparition boded her no 
good. There was no help at hand, that part of the forest being 
lonely and unfrequented, and the girl’s first instinct was to seek 
safety in flight. 

Further consideration, however, convinced her of the futility of 
that course, as the stranger barred the way that led back to the cha 
let; so, summoning all her courage, she turned to meet her pursuer, 
who had gained ground rapidly, and was now close behind her. 
What was her surprise when, after a rapid glance into her face, he 
removed his hat and disclosed the well-known features of her long- 
absent father. 

“Carmen, my child, do you not know me?” he cried, advancing 
with out-stretched arms. 

“My father! Is it possible that you are alive after all these 
years?” answered the girl, flinging herself, weeping with joy and 
surprise, on his neck. 

“ Yes, dear one. Your father is alive, or as much alive as a man 
can be after years of imprisonment in a Spanish dungeon.” 

“In prison! You have been in prison, my poor father, and I 
never knew it, and thought you had deserted or forgotten your 
poor little Carmen.” 

“Heaven be praised! some one has been found to replace me,” 
said the old man, trembling with excitement. “ Carmenita mia, 
you are now a dignified matron, I hear.” 

“How did you learn that? And where do you come from? And 
why did they put you in prison? Tell me quick. I have a thou- 
sand questions to ask.” 

“ Paciencia, carisima. My breath is short, and this sudden joy is 
almost too much for my weak heart.” 

“Poor dear; you are suffering. You are tired. Come to my 
house. You can rest there and tell all at your leisure,” cried the 
girl, tenderly. 

“No; sweet one. I dare not enter your door. I am an escaped 
convict, and even now the police may be on my track.” 

“Oh, father, how horrible! But what do you mean to do, then?” 

“Iam making my way to England. Once there, I am safe.” 

“My husband is in London. You must go to him. He will pro- 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


165 


tect you. He is so good and strong,” exclaimed Cartnen, trium- 
phantly. 

‘ ‘ Come, little one, sit down beside me on this trunk, and I will 
tell you my story. After that we will decide what is best to be 
done; that is, if you still have a corner left in your heart for your 
poor old father. ” 

“ You shall share the whole of it equally with my husband. And 
now tell me all. Do not fear. I will answer for your safety till I 
can hand you over to Vere, who will love you for my sake.” 

Thus urged, the old man — whose face looked pinched and wan, 
now that the flush of excitement had died out of liis cheeks — began 
his narrative. “You were too young when I left you in charge of 
Mademoiselle Delaforet to be intrusted with so weighty a secret, 
otherwise I might have prepared you for subsequent events. You 
must know, then, my child, that for many years I have been a mem- 
ber of a secret political society. What its aims were and are does 
not concern you now. But the fact remains that I was drawn into 
it in my hot youth, and have never been able to shake myself free 
from its clutches. Six years ago I was summoned by the council 
to start on an important and dangerous mission to Cuba, which was 
then struggling to free itself from the Spanish yoke. To refuse 
was certain. death, and so I went, much against my will. After nu- 
merous adventures — which I will reserve for a future occasion — I 
was taken prisoner by the Royalist troops, brought over to Spain, 
and flung idto prison with a number of other so-called rebel leaders. 
There I remained until a few weeks ago, when a party of us man- 
aged to effect our escape, and worked our way to Paris, en route 
for England. Once there, I can snap my fingers at these blood- 
hounds; but there is no safety for me in France, as I am told that 
the police of the two governments are accustomed to oblige each 
other in the matter of political refugees, and probably a reward is 
offering for my reapprehension at this very moment.” 

“Oh, father, why did you waste time in coming here? You 
should have gone straight on to London.” 

“ And miss seeing my little Carmen? No, dear one. I have not 
long to live, and but for the hope of meeting you again I should 
not have faced the terrible fatigues and privations I have had to 
undergo since my escape.” 

“Listen. I have an idea,” cried the girl, suddenly. “Travelling 
with me, you will be unremarked and unsuspected. I will accom- 
pany you to England. We will start at once; this very day. We 
shall take Yere by surprise, but I’ll answer for it he will be de- 
lighted to see me, and you.” 

“Of the latter I am not quite so sure. A political refugee is 
hardly a respectable Englishman’s beau-ideal of a father-in-law. 
However, I shall not trouble you long.” 

“Don’t talk like that, father; you don’t know Yere. He is not 
respectable — at least not in the sense of being scandalized at every- 
thing outside of his own way of life— or he would not love me as 
he does.” 


166 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


“Very well, my child. I leave myself in your hands, only asking 
you not to mention the fact of my return to any living soul until I 
have placed the Channel between myself and my pursuers,” said 
her father, wearily. 

“Have no fear; you will find me a skilful conspirator. I will 
bring my dejeuner out here, and we will have an al fresco picnic, 
with no one to disturb us. While we are eating we can mature our 
plans. Is not that a good notion? Now, you stay here behind this 
thicket until I return. An revoir;” and kissing her hand to him 
with a bright smile, Carmen directed her steps to the chalet. 

In pursuance of her plan, when the vehicle arrived to transport 
her to the Pension, Carmen entered it and drove away without 
breathing a word to her maid or the driver of her intended change 
of destination. Consequently, the latter was somewhat astonished 
at finding himself hailed by a gentleman half a mile from Beauri- 
vage, and still more so when Carmen invited the stranger to enter, 
and directed their course to the railway-station. 

“ Sapristi! Y’la une belle affaire,” muttered the Jehu as he scru- 
tinized the note which Carmen, before entering the station with her 
mysterious companion, bade him deliver to Mademoiselle Delaforet 
with all possible speed. However, being like most of his class some- 
thing of a philosopher, and not unaccustomed to the vagaries of 
grass-widows, he made his wonderment the excuse for an extra litre 
of petit-bleu at the nearest wine-shop, and then drove off, medita- 
tively, to execute his commission. 

Meanwhile Monsieur Mendes and his daughter arrived at Paris, 
intending to push on to London by the night mail. But finding her 
father utterly worn out with the day’s excitement and unfit for far- 
ther travel, Carmen persuaded him to pass the night there. 

Having calculated that they would be with Vere before any news 
of her disappearance could possibly reach him, the girl had thought 
it needless to write or telegraph to him before she left home. And 
now, in the excitement and nervous trepidation caused by her fa- 
ther’s precarious state, the advisability of taking some steps to re- 
assure her husband quite escaped her mind. 

It was not until the evening of the following day that Monsieur 
Mendes declared himself sufficiently recovered to resume the jour- 
ney. Anxious as Carmen was to feel that her father was safe from 
pursuit, he looked so weak and ill, that she assented most reluctantly 
to his urgent entreaties for their immediate departure. 

Unaccustomed to travelling on her own responsibility, the girl 
was dazed and bewildered by the noise and bustle of the great ter- 
minus; and the nervous dread that every official or by-stander who 
gazed inquiringly in their direction might hold a warrant for her 
father’s arrest, helped to increase her excitement and perturbation. 
At last, however, she was able to support the old man’s tottering 
steps to a reserved coupe, and after much preliminary whistling and 
bell-ringing, the train-marais got under way and steamed noisily out 
of the station. 

In the hurry of their departure the travellers had omitted to sup- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


167 


ply themselves with the necessary wraps for a night voyage across 
the Channel. Consequently, when they reached Folkestone in the 
cheerless light of early morning, both were chilled to the hone. For 
the first time Carmen’s courage forsook her. Her father, benumbed 
with cold, seemed to have lost all sensibility and power of locomo- 
tion, and only groaned and murmured inarticulately when she en- 
deavored to persuade him to take her arm and ascend the compan- 
ion, up which the crowd was thronging towards the landing-stage. 
What if he were about to die — here in this strange place where she 
knew nobody — before she could reach London and Vere? The 
thought completely unnerved her, and she sank down beside the old 
man’s recumbent form and buried her face in her hands. 

Nowhere is the sense of loneliness more oppressive than in the 
midst of a noisy and self-absorbed crowd. Excited paterfamiliases 
shouting at porters, and dashing wildly about the saloon with arms 
full of packages; pale-faced females clutching anxiously after frac- 
tious children, who persistently effected their escape, and spread 
themselves recklessly under the feet of the hurrying passengers; 
cockney tourists, who had scraped acquaintance on the “ Conti- 
nong,” exchanging farewells and addresses; gratuity-seeking stew- 
ards dragging bundles from under seats and off tables — everywhere 
hustling and jostling, noise and confusion — everybody wrapped up in 
himself and his belongings, and no one to give a thought to the poor 
invalid foreigner and his helpless companion. Thus Carmen de- 
spairingly diagnosed the situation, when suddenly she felt a touch 
on her shoulder, and, looking up, beheld a jolly-looking, middle- 
aged Englishman, who was evidently about to address her, when his 
speech was cut short by a violent jerk at his coat-tails from an ultra- 
fashionably attired young lady with a washed-out complexion and 
pale blue eyes, who stood behind him. 

“ Don’t be so stupid, pa. Why don’t you mind your own busi- 
ness?” said the gayly-dressed damsel in an audible whisper. ‘ ‘ Y ou’re 
always meddling with other people’s concerns.” 

“ Leave me alone, Vic. Can’t you see that the poor gentleman is 
ill, and the young lady don’t seem quite to know what to do? Do 
you, missie?” replied the parent, plucking up courage and address- 
ing Carmen good-naturedly. 

“Thank you, sir; I am somewhat perplexed. I am a stranger, 
and my poor father is not well. Indeed, I fear he is very ill, and I 
do not know how I shall get him to London,” replied Carmen in her 
best English. 

“To London? Well, now, that’s lucky. Me and my daughter 
happen to be bound for that self-same little ’amlet. so that, if you’ve 
no objection, miss, we’ll join forces and help look after the old gen- 
tleman. Won’t we, Vic?” said the stranger, endeavoring to hide 
the kindness of his proposal under an air of unconcerned waggish- 
ness and jollity. 

Carmen was extremely sensitive, and this display of friendly in- 
terest from a perfect stranger, when she had pictured herself help- 
less and deserted, went straight to her heart. “You are too kind, 


168 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


sir,” she answered, raising her glistening eyes to his; “but I hard- 
ly like to trouble you and your daughter.” 

Mr. Moggs, for he it was on his way home after his annual jour- 
ney to “ Parry,” in search of spring novelties for the house in Wood 
Street, was completely enslaved by that glance. Notwithstanding 
the forty and odd years spent in the dull routine of business, he still 
retained an eye to "female charms, and a romantic corner in his heart 
for beauty in distress. 

“ Lor’ love you, my dear, don’t talk of trouble, if we can be of any 
use,” he exclaimed, enthusiastically. “ And now let’s see about get- 
ting the old gentleman ashore, or we shall lose the train. What’s he 
suffering from?” 

“ He’s very weak and feeble, and the cold journey has been too 
much for him, I fear.” 

“I know what’ll do him good,” said Mr. Moggs, producing his 
pocket-flask, and holding it to Monsieur Mendes’ blue, quivering lips. 

“ There, sir, take a pull at that; it’ll make a new man of you.” 

Mr. Moggs was right, for after a few minutes the invalid had re- 
covered sufficient animation to walk up the gangway, supported by 
his daughter and their new friend. Then, having conducted his 
charges to the refreshment-room, the indefatigable traveller left them 
to regale themselves on the vile concoctions sold at famine prices un- 
der the name of tea and coffee, and rushed off to get his and their 
baggage passed through the Customs. He was evidently known to 
the officials, or possessed some passport to their favor; for in less 
than five minutes he returned, liis face aglow with smiles, and led 
the way to the platform, where the train for the metropolis was rap- 
idly loading. 

“ Now, then, hurry up there, please, if you’re going on,” shouted 
the guard, in stentorian tones. 

“ Halloo, William, you’ve lost your voice since I saw you last; 
you really should look after those lungs of yours,” said Mr. Moggs, 
facetiously. 

“ Lor’ bless me! It’s you, Mr. Moggs. How are you, sir?” said the 
official, with a friendly salute. “ I ain’t seen yer since Christmas.” 

“ No more you have, William. Well, just you find me an empty 
first-class compartment, and mark it‘ reserved,’ for me and my friends, 
and you shall have seen me to your advantage.” 

The guard took the hint, ana soon the four were comfortably set- 
tled, and rattling along towards their destination. 

All this time Miss Moggs, while not actually protesting against 
her father’s attentions to the strangers, evidently determined to evince 
her disapprobation by the extreme hauteur of her manner towards 
them. To Carmen’s apologetic utterances she only vouchsafed mon- 
osyllabic replies, and left the whole burden of the conversation to 
her parent, who was, fortunately, quite capable of sustaining it. It 
was not that Miss Victoria was ill-natured or hard-hearted, but her 
high-flown susceptibilities and secret desire to be taken for one of 
the “upper ten” were ruffled by her father’s undignified habit of 
being “hail fellow, well met” with everybody he came across. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


169 


However, when Carmen incidentally let fall that she was married 
to Vere Danvers — the former beau-ideal of Miss Victoria’s virgin 
heart, and whom she still revered and worshipped in secret, as the 
first real gentleman of her acquaintance — the young lady instantly 
thawed, and, after a painful, and seemingly uncalled-for fit of blush- 
ing, she joined most amicably in the conversation, and tried to outvie 
her father in the expression of her interest in their former lodger. 

It was a great relief to Carmen to discover that she had some sort 
of claim on these chance acquaintances, who seemed disposed to ren- 
der the help she so much needed. Although she was not quite clear 
as to the exact status of their friendship with Vere, it sufficed for her 
that they knew and respected him, and she gratefully accepted Mr. 
Moggs’s kindly suggestion that, he and his daughter should accom- 
pany them to the hotel where her husband was lodging. 

‘ ‘ 1 should much like to see our young gentleman again, and it’s 
very little out of our way, is it, Vic?” said Mr. Moggs, as he entered 
the cab and gave the driver his directions. 

“It’s really very kind of you, and I am sure my husband will be 
most delighted,” cried Carmen, who had quite recovered her spirits 
at the near prospect of meeting her natural protector. 

Great, therefore, was the disappointment of them all to learn that 
Mr. Danvers had taken his departure on the previous evening. 

“But where can he have gone to?” cried Carmen. “ He intended 
to remain here at least a week, I know.” 

“ That I can’t say, ma’am,” replied the hall porter; “all I know 
is, that I gave the gentleman a telegram yesterday afternoon, which 
seemed to upset him like, and he packed his bag and started off 
without leaving word where he was going.” 

“ It must have been from Danverfield. Perhaps his father want- 
ed to see him. How provoking! What is to be done?” exclaimed 
the young wife, ready to cry with disappointment. 

“ Couldn’t you send a telegram to ask if he’s there?” suggested the 
ready Mr. Moggs. 

“ Thank you, I will,” she replied, eagerly; “but what shall I do 
till he returns?” 

‘ ‘ If your father can stand the journey, I propose that you come 
and stay with us at Shepherd’s Bush, Rose Cottage, the old address. 
Mr. Danvers will know his way there, I’ll lay a fiver.” 

“You are really too good; but I think the less my father is moved 
about the better in his present state.” 

“ Well, then, while you’re writing your telegram, I’ll see about en- 
gaging rooms for you here if you’ll allow me. The manager’s a pal 
of mine,” said Mr. Moggs, confidentially. 

Carmen readily assented to this proposal; and after seeing his 
proteges comfortably installed, and giving her the address of a well- 
known physician in case Monsieur Mendes should have a relapse, 
the kind-hearted bagman took his departure, promising to call, or 
send his daughter, on the following day, to see how they were get- 
ting on, and learn if they had succeeded in discovering Vere’s where- 
abouts. 


170 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ Ah ! were I sever’d from thy side, 

. Where were thy friend, and who my guide?” — Byron. 

The Danverfield party, consisting of the squire, who was now 
fairly convalescent, Mrs. Danvers, Mary, and Charlie, were assem- 
bled at the mid-day meal, when Carmen’s telegram arrived, addressed 
to Psyche. 

“How t tiresome that the dear child isn’t here,” said the old lady, 
querulously, putting on her spectacles to scan the envelope, in the 
vain hope that it might afford a clew to the identity of the sender; 
“I wonder if by any chance it is from Vere?” 

‘ ‘ It can hardly be from him, mother, because he would know that 
Psyche has returned to Scarboro’,” replied Mary. 

“ Still, Vere is in town, and he promised, if he could spare a couple 
of days, he would run down to see us,” persisted Mrs. Danvers. 

‘ ‘ Surely, in that case, he would have addressed the telegram to 
you or father. Besides, mother, you know he was so anxious not to 
leave Carmen in her present state a moment longer than he could 
help, that he was almost certain to postpone his visit here till he 
could bring her with him next month.” 

“What’s the use of wondering and worrying about whom it’s 
from when you can easily find out by opening it?” asked the squire, 
testily, looking up from his plate. “You women are so fond of a 
little bit of mystification, and, to hear you talk, one would imagine 
that there’s nobody else in the world likely to send a telegram but 
that precious boy.” 

Although since his accident these ebullitions of temper were of 
rarer occurrence than formerly, the old gentleman still occasionally 
indulged in a vicious lash out at his mild and unoffending wife and 
daughter. Indeed, sad to say, their unvarying meekness was a po- 
tent factor in his irritability. 

Mrs. Danvers started nervously at the sound of her husband’s 
voice, and was obediently about to carry out his suggestion, when 
she was arrested by scruples of conscience. 

“I don’t think it would be nice for me to open it, not being ad- 
dressed to me,” she said in a faint voice, flushing painfully. 

“Nice be hanged!” retorted the squire, who, for all his pretended 
indifference, was quite as anxious as his wife for news of Vere. 
“ Give it to me. I’ll open it. What a confounded fuss about noth- 
ing. As if a telegram was like a private letter. Here, Charlie, 
you’re the chit’s brother, you read it;” and he tossed the pink paper 
across the table to his nephew. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


171 


Thus urged, Charlie unfolded it, and read aloud: “From Car- 
men Danvers, Hotel, London, to Miss Psyche Danvers, Danver- 

field, Yorks. Is Yere with you? Have arrived here to see him on 
important affair; find he has gone, no address.” 

‘ ‘ It’s strange what can have brought her over. And she must 
have come without his knowledge, too, or he would certainly have 
arranged to meet her, ” remarked Charlie, meditatively, passing the 
telegram to his aunt, who seemed quite bewildered by this unex- 
pected intelligence. 

“ Whatever shall we do? How vexed Yere will be to have missed 
her!” cried Mary, with a face full of concern. 

“Serves the idiot right for marrying an outlandish foreigner. 
What else could he expect?” growled the squire. 

“Poor child ! What will become of her in that great, bewildering 
city, all by herself, and in her delicate state of health. I shouldn’t 
wonder if it kills her,” gasped Mrs. Danvers, plaintively. 

“ Good job too,” continued the squire, who abominated a fuss at 
any time, and particularly at meals. “ She’s been more trouble than 
enough already, confound her, with her fads and fancies.” 

“Now, father, you know you don’t mean that,” interposed Mary, 
injudiciously, but stopped short at a warning signal from Charlie, 
who, turning to his uncle, endeavored to ward off his rising irrita- 
tion by asking him in a calm and business-like manner what he 
thought ought to be done under the circumstances. 

At first the old gentleman pretended not to hear, and kept his 
eyes obstinately fixed on his plate, as his habit was when he was 
out of temper. Charlie waited a few minutes, and then reiterated 
his question. 

“ Do as you think best,” was the reply, in a milder tone than he 
had anticipated. “If any one here had a grain of sense, I should 
say one of you go up to town and look after this mad creature un- 
til her husband is found ; but it’s no use sending one maniac to take 
charge of another.” 

The young man was too habituated to his uncle’s mode of speech 
to take umbrage at this uncomplimentary retort, and he replied 
quietly, “If you think you can spare me for a day or two, I will 
take the message over to Psyche this afternoon, and we can run up 
to London to-morrow. Perhaps, meanwhile, she may have heard 
something of Yere’s movements.” 

The squire grunted assent to this proposition, adding, with a ma- 
licious chuckle and a sidelong glance in the direction of his wife 
and daughter, “It’s a blessing that there’s one woman in the world 
with her head screwed on the right way. All the rest of the sex 
look backward, or sideways, or inward, and then wonder why the 
deuce they can’t see straight. ” 

Armed ‘with this permission, Charlie promptly ordered the dog- 
cart, and drove off to catch the afternoon train to Scarboro’. 

Arrived at home, he found his sister in a state of great perturba- 
tion, caused by a letter that she had received from Yere that morn- 
ing. 


IF LOVE PE LOVE. 


m 

“Oil, Charlie, you can’t think what a relief this news is,” she 
cried, when she had glanced through Carmen’s message. “It seems 
that Mademoiselle Delaforet has wired Vere that Carmen has gone 
off with the Yicomte de Malsherbes, an old flame of hers, about 
whom she was infatuated some months ago, and he has started off 
in hot haste to find her. Poor boy, he seems quite heart-broken 
about it; and no wonder I couldn’t believe it of her, although the 
evidence was strong against her.” 

‘ ‘ It certainly is a rum go. What on earth can have brought the 
girl over here? She must have taken leave of her senses.” 

“She’s such a child of impulse, that there’s no saying what has 
caused this strange behavior. Perhaps she fled to avoid that brute’s 
persecution; but it’s no use guessing when we can soon know for 
ourselves. Of course, I must go up to her at once ; will you come 
with me?” 

“I’ve come on purpose.” 

“There’s a dear boy. And now get me a couple of telegram 
forms, and I will wire to Carmen to say we are coming, and to Vere 
to let him know that she is safe.” 

“You’d make a capital man of business,” said Charlie, admiring- 
ly, as he obeyed her behests. 

“That’s what uncle always says,” smiled the girl. Then, as a 
fresh thought struck her, “ Where am I to address Vere? He may 
be anywhere. Stop a bit. Mademoiselle Delaforet is sure to know 
his whereabouts. Dear old thing, I can picture her dismay, but it’s 
a pity she let her imagination run away with her quite so quickly.” 

“ There will be a deuce of a row if Vere comes across this vi- 
comte. He’s slow to anger, but rather warm - tempered when he’s 
really put out,” said Charlie, meditatively. 

“Gracious me, I never thought of that!” cried Psyche, with a 
face of horror. “I know something of the other man. He’s as 
proud as Lucifer and half mad. They’ll come to blows, and there’ll 
be a duel.” 

“If it’s confined to fisticuffs, I’ll lay odds on Vere ; but these 
blessed foreigners have a nasty habit of settling their differences 
with cold steel; and Vere’s not much of a hand at that, nor with 
pistols either.” 

“Don’t, Charlie; you make my blood run cold. Merciful heav- 
ens, if either of them were to be killed, and all for a mistake! We 
must push on to Paris at once, in case Vere does not get my tele- 
gram,” said the girl, resolutely. “Let me see: we can catch the 
night express to London if we start in half an hour, and then, after 
seeing Carmen, one or both of us must follow up Vere without a 
moment’s delay.” 

“I’m ready if jmu are,” replied her brother, who rather enjoyed 
the prospect of a little excitement and ‘ f a fling ” on the Continent. 

‘ ‘ I’ll leave you to explain matters to mother and father while I 
get my things together. I sha’n’t be more than twenty minutes. 
Don’t forget to send for a cab;” and Psyche flew up-stairs to make 
a few hurried preparations for this sudden departure. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


173 


It was close on midnight when the travellers arrived at the hotel 
where Carmen had taken up her abode, but she was expecting their 
arrival, and had not retired to rest. On learning this, Charlie en- 
sconced himself in the smoking-room while his sister was ushered 
up stairs to her friend’s apartments. 

As Psyche entered the sitting-room the door of an adjoining cham- 
ber was gently opened, and Carmen appeared and welcomed her 
with every demonstration of delight and relief. 

“ How good of you to have come all this distance to help me in 
my trouble,” she cried, in an ecstasy of gratitude. “Oh, Psyche, 
you don’t know how miserable I have been, so lonely, so helpless, in 
this great strange place, and no tidings of my husband. What can 
have come to him? Have you any idea?” 

“ Set your mind at rest, dear. Vere is safe and well. I heard this 
morning from him, and you shall see his letter presently. But first 
tell me what brought you here so unexpectedly,” replied Psyche, tak- 
ing Carmen’s hand in hers and leading her to a seat near the fife. 

‘ ‘ I came with my poor father. He is in the next room. Very ill — 
dying, I am afraid;” and the large dark eyes were suffused with tears. 

“ Your father! My poor child. But why didn’t you let your hus- 
band know before starting? It would have saved all this trouble,” 
exclaimed Psyche, with a mingled feeling of relief and annoyance — 
relief at finding that Vere’s terrible anxiety was unfounded, annoy- 
ance to think that it should have been caused by his wife’s thought- 
lessness. 

“ Wait till you hear everything, and I think you will say that this 
time I am not to blame. My dear father was escaping from the hands 
of cruel men ; he implored me to save him. What could I do but con- 
sent? He is my only parent; my only relation living. I had not 
seen him for six years; did not even know that he was alive. Poor 
dear, I have only found him to lose him again forever, I fear, ’’re- 
plied Carmen, burying her face in her hands and letting her tears 
fall freely. 

‘ ‘ Let us hope for the best. Perhaps, now that he has you to look, 
after him, he may recover. What is his complaint?” asked Psyche,, 
gently. 

“The physician who has been here to see him says he is suffering 
from— I can’t remember the long Latin word, but it means wasting 
away.” 

“May I see him? I am accustomed to sick-rooms, more so than 
you are, dear; and perhaps 1 may be able to suggest something for 
your poor father’s comfort.” 

“He is sleeping now; he has been so ever since we arrived. I 
shall have to awake him presently to give him some nourishment, 
and then, if you are willing — Oh, Psyche! what an angel you are. 
And I treated you go badly not long ago;” and the girl rose and 
knelt by her friend’s side, looking up with such pleading eyes that 
Psyche felt constrained to bend down and tenderly kiss the lovely 
upturned face. 

“ You magnify your little failings, my dear, as you do my small 


174 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


virtues,” she said, in a soothing tone. “Friendship such as ours 
cannot be destroyed by a slight misunderstanding, nor any number 
of them.” 

“But you don’t know how wicked I was,” cried Carmen, as eager 
to confess now as she had been to suspect. It was not in the girl’s 
nature to do anything by halves, and she felt that she could not ac- 
cept Psyche’s renewed affection until she had owned the full enor- 
mity of her own falling away from their pact. “Psyche, dearest, 
don’t hate me; but I hated you once. I believed that you loved 
Yere, and that you wanted to — wanted to rob me of his love.” 

“Carmen! How could you?” exclaimed Psyche, startled out of 
her self-possession by this disclosure of a suspicion which, although 
so wide of the truth in respect to her intentions, had not been at one 
time without foundation as regards her feelings towards her cousin. 
It is so much easier to hear with equanimity an utterly false accu- 
sation than one that contains a substratum of truth — and a flush of 
shame and indignation rose to her brow. Involuntarily she made a 
movement as though to repel the penitent who knelt at her feet im- 
ploring her forgiveness for having doubted her. But Psyche was 
too honest at bottom to punish another for inadvertently lighting on 
her moral corn. Six months ago these words w^ould have caused 
her an agony of grief and pain, because the wound was not yet heal- 
ed. Now her only sensations were shame for her former weakness, 
and a nervous shrinking from laying it bare either to her own eyes 
or those of Carmen. “How could you think so meanly of me — and 
of your husband?” she asked, reproachfully, but without a trace of 
anger in her tone. 

Carmen looked up. “I know I was mad. I know now that Yere 
loved me all the time. And as for you, I have said you are an an- 
gel; so you will forgive me, won’t you?” 

“Let us say no more about it,” replied Psyche, passing her hand 
caressingly over the girl’s head. “Come, we have wasted time 
enough in idle talk. Let us be up and doing. To-morrow, or rath- 
er this morning, we must start for Paris to find your distracted hus- 
band. See, here is his letter, which will explain the situation better 
than I can.” 

“Holy mother! I never dreamed that he would hear of my de- 
parture until I had rejoined him,” cried Carmen, starting up in a 
fresh agony of despair as the facts dawned upon her. “Truly, I 
was born under an unlucky star. I am always doing wrong unin- 
tentionally. What can I do? I cannot leave my father.” 

“No; that'is out of the question, and I am sure that Yere would 
not wish you to do so if he knew.” 

“You say that you would have heard by now had he received 
your telegram?” 

‘ ‘ I asked Mademoiselle Delaforet to wire me here if she was at 
Boisy, or if she knew his address.” 

“He will challenge M. de Malsherbes, and get killed, for certain. 
Psyche, dearest, if you love me, help me to save him,” said the girl, 
imploringly. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


175 


“Of course I will. That is why I am here. Unless there is a re- 
ply to my message in the morning, Charlie and I will cross over to 
Paris and bring him back to you here safe and sound,” answered her 
friend, cheerily. “And now tell me all about your father, so that, 
I may explain matters to Yere; and then I will try and get a few 
hours’ sleep to fortify myself for to-morrow’s journey.” 

When Carmen had finished her narration, Psyche, after taking a 
peep at the invalid, sent for her brother to communicate her plan of 
action to him, and then retired for the night. 

While they were sitting at breakfast on the following morning, a 
telegram arrived from Mademoiselle Delaforet to the effect that Yere 
Was in Paris, but that she did not know his address. 

“ That ^settles the question,” said Psyche to her brother. “We 
must follow him up and track him out without a moment’s delay.” 

“ Won’t it be rather like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay?” 
asked Charlie. “ Paris is not like Danverfield.” 

‘ ‘ I have his old address, and if he is not there his bankers will 
probably be able to help us to find him. Failing that, we must re- 
sort to the police,” replied his sister, with characteristic determina- 
tion, as she rose from the table, and hurried up to say good-by to 
Carmen, and bid her be of good cheer. 

Acting on information which they obtained at his former lodgings 
in the Quartier St. Honore, Psyche and her brother drove to the Ho- 
tel Continental, expecting to find there the object of their quest. To 
their intense disappointment and almost dismay, they were met with 
the intelligence that Monsieur Danvers had left that same after- 
noon in company with another gentleman. Where they had gone 
to, the clerk in the bureau could not inform madame; but, possibly, 
the concierge might be able to do so if madame would kindly ad- 
dress herself to him. 

Accordingly the smiling concierge was summoned and interview- 
ed. “Oh yes; he remembered perfectly Monsieur Danvers, and he 
remembered also hearing him direct the cocher to the Gare du Nord, 
and remark to his companion that they had plenty of time to catch 
the four-o’clock train to Yilleneuve.” 

Psyche’s heart knocked loudly against her breast. She knew that 
Yilleneuve was on the Belgian frontier, and a favorite resort for gen- 
tlemen desirous of settling affairs of honor. 

“ What was he like — this other gentleman? Was he tall, and thin, 
and dark; with a mustache — a V Imperial?” she asked, in an unsteady 
voice, imagining, in her ignorance of the formalities always observed 
on these solemn occasions, that Yere and the vicomte might be jour- 
neying there together, like two small street urchins intent on “liav 
ing it out.” 

“Oh no, madame; the other was an English gentleman — an offi- 
cer, I believe. Stop a little moment. I know his name too — he was 
staying here — Holdsworth ; yes, that was it, M. le Lieutenant Holds 
worth. ” 

Surprise deprived Psyche of all power of speech and set the hot 
blood mantling in her cheeks. “ She should see him again, would 


176 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


be able to find out if he had forgiven and — (ah no! not that) forgot- 
ten her. Perhaps even she might have an opportunity of — of letting 
him divine that she had not known her own mind when she had re- 
fused his love.” Yere, Carmen, the object of her journey— all were 
momentarily forgotten in this sweet dream. 

“ Jack Holdsworth gone off with Vere — by Jove, that beats cock- 
fighting. I expect he’s going to act as his second,” exclaimed Char- 
lie, excitedly, in her ear, thereby rudely recalling her to the world of 
unpleasant and inharmonious facts — to this w T orld, where to love 
generally means to suffer. 

Men are seldom quick at reading a woman’s thoughts in the light 
either of words, looks, or actions ; and this arises from the fact that 
the male mind attempts to judge them from a masculine stand-point, 
whereas the natural instinct of the other sex is towards concealment 
and reticence; at any rate, where the affections are concerned. Thus 
Charlie was completely puzzled when his sister, who had hitherto 
held the reins and directed their course with a steady hand and an 
unfaltering purpose, turned to him and hesitatingly asked his advice 
as to what was best to be done under the circumstances. 

‘ ‘ There’s only one thing we can do if we want to prevent blood- 
letting, and that is to follow them by the next train,” he replied, de- 
cisively, and yet not without some secret compunction at the idea 
of spoiling sport. If it had only been a quarrel of the ordinary 
type, when honor is satisfied with the first scratch, or with one prob- 
ably harmless discharge of fire-arms, he would certainly have con- 
trived to arrive too late. But this duel was no light matter, and he 
felt that speedy interference was imperatively called for. 

Psyche, on the other hand, while longing, or perhaps because she 
was possessed by so ardent a longing to see her injured lover again, 
was a prey to a thousand feminine doubts and scruples as to the 
propriety of her appearance on the scene. 

‘ ‘ Don’t you think that you had better go on alone, and leave me 
here?” she asked. 

“Nonsense, my dear girl; without you, how shall I be able to 
persuade Yere that it’s all right, and there’s no further need for 
fighting? Besides, you couldn’t stay here by yourself,” he replied, 
impatiently. “You must see it out now. After leading the field 
all through the run, you surely don’t mean to give in just at the 
finish.” 

“If you think so, I’ll come; but I’m afraid they’ll consider it 
rather a strange proceeding for a girl,” said Psyche, secretly delight- 
ed at having the decision taken out of her hands. 

“Of course you’ll come,” replied Charlie. Then, turning to the 
concierge, he obtained the necessary information about the train to 
Yilleneuve, and, finding that they had an hour to spare, led the way 
to the restaurant, where they had something to eat before starting 
in pursuit of the combatants. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


177 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“ We rest — a dream has power to poison sleep ; 

We rise — one wandering thought pollutes the day ; 

We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep ; 

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away. ’’—Shelley. 

On the very evening that Psyche and her brother were speeding 
up to London in response to Carmen’s appeal, Vere was waiting 
upon M. de Malsherbes for the purpose of wresting from him the 
secret of his young wife’s place of concealment, of which he erro- 
neously supposed him to be cognizant. And while, in the watches 
of the same night, Carmen was pouring out her troubles in her 
friend’s sympathizing ear, her husband was pacing the floor of his 
bedroom at the great Parisian hostelry in a state of mind that bor- 
dered on frenzy. 

In vain he strove to collect his thoughts, and to force himself to 
take a calm and dispassionate view of his position. All the barriers 
of self-possession had been swept away by the force of the terrible 
shock caused by the intelligence of Carmen’s faithlessness. 

On shallower natures, accustomed to a state of perpetual overflow 
and peevish friction against the rocks of imaginary troubles, a great 
calamity has far less effect than on the strong and habitually self- 
contained. 

To the mountain stream the most violent storm will only cause a 
little more frothing and foaming, and a momentarily quickened rush 
that soon spends itself in the accustomed channels, while with the 
mighty reservoir, once its ordinary restraints are destroyed, there is 
no means of stemming or diverting the roaring torrent that heeds 
neither boundaries nor landmarks, but dashes wildly on — carrying 
everything before it, and leaving destruction and death in its wake. 

Of this latter type was the upheaval in Vere’s inmost soul. 

“ What have I done to deserve this misery?” he groaned aloud in 
his anguish. And then his thoughts went back to the happy time 
of his first meeting with Carmen, and the circumstances that had led 
to her becoming his wife. True, their relations at first had not been 
altogether satisfactory. He had failed to apprehend a character and 
disposition so essentially divergent from his own, and in the light of 
his later experience he now perceived that his well-meant attempts 
to mould her into a form more in accordance with his own notions 
of wifely dignity had gone dangerously near to destroying its es- 
sence-perfect love and trustfulness. But while he blamed himself 
for this lack of delicacy of perception, which had made him appear 
unsympathetic and cold to a nature that could not exist without 
sympathy and warmth, he could safely aver that he had never fal- 
ls* 


178 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


tered in his affection for his beautiful childlike bride, and in his ear- 
nest desire to do his duty by her. Had she left him after their first 
serious disagreement, while the dark shadow of distrust on her part 
and of righteous indignation on his still lay between them, he w’ould 
at least have been able to assign some motive for a step the gravity 
of which she might well have overlooked in the violence of her pas- 
sion, and in her ignorance of the world and its ways. But that now 
— when all that was past and gone, when the cloud had been lifted 
from both their hearts, and they had pierced through the personal 
idiosyncrasies that clung like dross around the nugget, and had 
lighted upon the pure gold within — that now she should have chosen 
deliberately to wreck the happiness they had so carefully built up 
together — seemed to him as incredible as it was sacrilegious. And 
yet what else could he believe ? If it were not so, most assuredly 
M. de Malsherbes. . . . The mere passage of this man’s hated name 
across Yere’s thoughts diverted them into a fresh channel. 

It was no longer of Carmen that he mused — of her winning graces 
and tender affection, now, alas ! as lost to him as her fair name and 
happiness to herself, but of revenge, speedy and relentless. He, the 
man of gentle disposition and instinctive hatred of quarrelling and 
contention in any shape or form, who, from his boyhood up, had 
shrunk alike from practising or witnessing deeds of cruelty, this 
same Yere Danvers was possessed with a ferocious longing for the 
blood of him whom he regarded as his wife’s betrayer. The delib- 
erateness and formality of the duel to which he was engaged seemed 
senseless and unbearable. As his mood was then, he would like to 
have fought it out on the spot, hand to hand with knife or pistol, in 
the fashion of the Far West. All this bowing and scraping, this 
hiding of murderous hate under the mask of external politeness, was 
sickening and absurdly childish, and added the torment of conscious 
impotence to his other sufferings. When, at last, he flung himself, 
without undressing, on to his bed, and sheer bodily exhaustion forced 
him into an uneasy slumber, he was still gripping his adversary by 
the throat, and gloating over his death-throes in his dreams. 

Next morning he was awakened by a loud tapping at his door, 
and, springing up to open it, found Jack Holdsworth outside in 
walking attire. 

‘ ‘ Halloo, Danvers, you are dressed ; that’s all right. Can I come, 
in?” said his friend, suiting the action to the word. 

“What’s the time?” asked Yere, sleepily, rubbing his eyes and try- 
ing to recall his senses. 

“Just after eleven. I shall be starting in a few minutes to meet 
our friend’s friend and settle preliminaries, and I thought I’d just 
look in to ask if you had anything to say about the weapons; of 
course, the choice lies with them, but there’s no harm in my know- 
ing if you’ve any predilection one way or the other,” said Jack, tap- 
ping his varnished boots with his cane.” 

Yere walked slowly to the window, and throwing back the 'per- 
siennes, admitted a flood of bright sunlight that made him wince and 
blink like an owl, “I’m not half awake yet,” he remarked, apolQ’ 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


179 


getically. ‘ ‘ I can’t think what’s made me so confoundedly heavy 
this morning.” 

'• Sitting up to the small hours, and going to bed in your clothes,” 
said the other with a significant glance at the candles, burned down 
to their sockets, and at Yere’s disordered attire. 

‘ ‘ Oh yes, I remember ; of course, you’ve got to see M. de Mal- 
sherbes this morning. Settle anything you like, so that it comes off 
as soon as possible.” 

“ It’s all the same to you, then — swords or shooting-irons?” 

“ Quite so.” 

“Then I’ll be off. We shall most likely be obliged to take a trip 
to the Belgian frontier. There’ll be less fear of interruption.” 

“That means twenty-four hours’ delay,” said Yere, impatiently. 

‘ ‘ It can’t be helped, old chap. This isn’t a mere newspaper affair 
— pistols fired at an impossible range, and breakfast together after- 
wards ; honor satisfied ; both heroes of the hour, and the best of 
friends,” replied Jack, arranging his tie at the looking-glass; “at 
least I take it you mean business.” 

“ One of us shall not leave the field alive,” said Yere, setting his 
teeth. 

“Just so. Then that means that the other will have to make him- 
self scarce for a bit, so the frontier’s the best place for our money. 
Good-by, old man; try and keep your pecker up. I’ll be back to 
luncheon about one;” and Master Jack departed on his bellicose er- 
rand with as much sang-froid as if he were going to arrange for a 
water-picnic on the Thames, or a luncheon party at Ascot. It was 
not that he was hard-hearted, or indifferent to Yere’s possible fate; 
but, after all, the chances were even, he argued; and setting so little 
store on his own life, he was not likely to wax sentimental over his 
friend’s perilous situation. 

Left to himself, Yere rang for his bath, and proceeded with his 
toilet operations. The cold water quickly dispelled his drowsiness, 
and recalled his wandering faculties. And what a miserable awak- 
ening it was! The first violence of his passion had spent itself on 
the preceding night, and in its place a dull gnawing depression filled 
his mind. He dare not let his thoughts dwell on Carmen, for the 
recollection of her ingratitude and shame utterly unnerved him. 
Even his fierce hatred for M. de Malsherbes had assumed a modified 
form. While still loathing him as a base deceiver and unprincipled 
scoundrel, he shrank from the notion of staining his own soul with 
blbod-guiltiness. And yet, how could he avoid it? The choice lay be- 
tween this and the renunciation of all claim to rank among his com- 
peers as a man of honor, and one possessed of the courage to de- 
fend it. It was the every-day struggle which the man of high mor- 
al principles, living in a world that theoretically assents to the tenets 
of Christianity, but is practically governed by its own, has to wage. 
We go to church and pray that we may learn to forgive our enemies 
and to turn our cheek to the smiter. But who among the millions 
of church-goers, not excepting the clergy themselves, ever dreams of 
acting up to this high ide^l? Or, if he does make a feeble attempt 


180 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


to govern his actions by his religious beliefs and professions, is not 
imposed upon and scorned by his fellow-men, Christians and infidels 
alike? 

Yere was endowed with a fair share of that noblest form of brav- 
ery — moral courage. But that, and his religious scruples combined, 
was inadequate to enable him to face the dishonor that awaited him 
if he now failed to meet his adversary in order to slay or be slain. 
The very fact that his sensitive nature made him shrink involunta- 
rily from suffering or inflicting bodily pain helped to harden his pur- 
pose; for how could he be sure that his moral scruples did not arise 
from physical cowardice? And if this were so, he would lose not 
only public esteem, but self-respect, in allowing them to prevail. 

This argument practically decided his mental struggle. He ab- 
horred and despised the practice of duelling, and yet having regard 
to the custom of his adopted country, he was bound to fight. Like 
many better and braver men, he had not the courage to encounter 
the reproach of cowardice. Let those blame him who have under- 
gone a like ordeal and emerged from it triumphantly. 

When Jack Holdsworth returned he found Yere still in his room, 
busily engaged in writing. 

‘ ‘ I know you won’t mind charging yourself with these papers in 
case I fall,” said the latter, without looking up from his desk. “I’ve 
not gone in for many details. I can leave you to supply those ; but 
I should like my people to know the facts of the case, and that I had 
no alternative but to fight.” 

“ All right, old man, you may rely upon me if need be; but there’s 
no fear of that,” replied Jack, cheerily. “We shall polish off our 
man as easy as ninepins, and you’ll be able to act as chronicler of 
your own noble deeds. ” 

Yere grasped his friend’s out-stretched hand, and shook his head 
sadly. He wished that he could raise his own spirits to the other’s 
gay level, and retort with a jest; but that was impossible, with his 
mind fresh from the contemplation of Carmen’s unhappy future. 
Whether he killed her lover or was himself sent to his last account, 
her lot, and that of their yet unborn child, must be one of sorrow 
and disgrace. How best to alleviate these, and to defend the innocent 
little one from the consequences of its mother’s guilt and folly, was 
the subject of his present deepest thought and preoccupation. 

< Presently he looked up, and said, in an unsteady voice, “ I hardly 
like to trouble you any more about my family concerns, but there’s 
one other favor I should like to ask of you. If this affair terminates 
fatally for me, as I almost hope it may, w T ould you mind finding out 
where my— my wife really is? Surely the vicomte will not refuse 
to tell you then?” 

“ He’d better not,” said Jack, viciously, under his breath. 

“ And when you see her give her this letter; it contains a copy 
of my will. The provisions are simple enough. All that I possess 
—and that is not much— is left to her, subject to her becoming the 
lawful wife of the vicomte within six months of my decease; or, 
failing that, of her breaking with him entirely, and taking up her 


i 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


181 


abode at Danverfield if my people can be prevailed upon to receive 
her.” 

Jack cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. He was more 
touched by his friend’s magnanimity than he cared to show, and 
did not like to throw cold water on his scheme; yet, knowing 
what he did of the squire, he felt more than dubious as to its feasi- 
bility. 

“ I have written to both my father and mother, and do not think 
they will refuse my last request,” continued Yere, answering his 
companion’s doubts. “I have also taken upon myself to name 
you as joint executor with my father. You will be on the spot and 
know how to act ; and then, if the old gentleman comes round, you 
will soon be relieved of all further trouble in the matter.” 

“Don’t talk of trouble, old chap; I’ll do what I can to carry out 
your wishes,” said Jack, still struggling with the uncomfortable sen- 
sation in his throat, and turning suddenly to gaze fixedly out of 
the open window into the court-yard below. 

“Thank you; you’re a true friend, ’’said Yere, heartily, as Jack, 
muttering something about ordering the dejeuner , passed by him 
and left the room. 

Half an hour later the two young men met below in the restau- 
rant, and discussed the details of the campaign in a calm and mat- 
ter-of-fact manner. 

Jack, with the true instinct of his profession, had everything cut 
and dried, and Yere left himself entirely in his hands. They caught 
the afternoon train for Yilleneuve, where they slept preparatory to 
the hostile meeting which was fixed for six o’clock on the following 
morning, arriving there in time for a good night’s rest, of which 
Vere stood sorely in need. 

Now that all was settled, Yere had quite recovered his self-pos- 
session, and awoke the next day with the determination to do or die 
as became an Englishman and a gentleman. 

Yilleneuve was an ugly little village, consisting of one long pop- 
lar-lined street, situated in close proximity to an extensive tract of 
forest land w T hich formed a sort of neutral zone between the two 
countries, and offered unrivalled advantages to gentlemen desirous 
of slaughtering one another without the interruption of the police. 
So accustomed had the portly landlord of the “ Trois Ecus ” become 
to the sudden advent of little parties of strangers who slept one 
night, ordered early breakfast, and departed for a matutinal drive in 
the sombre forest, that he expressed no curiosity or surprise at re- 
ceiving Jack’s orders couched in the usual terms. Sometimes none 
of his guests reappeared, but the village undertaker had a job; at 
others his best bedroom was occupied for weeks or months by a 
wounded combatant; and this was the class of business that suited 
him best, for as he would shrewdly, remark when making out his 
bills, “ Gentlemen who are ready to risk their lives at the call of hon- 
or are generally willing to pay well.” Then, again, not unfrequent- 
ly both champions returned unhurt with their seconds and the local 
doctor, and sitting side by side at the festive board of the “Trois 


182 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


Ecus, ’’swore eternal friendship over countless bottles of “tisane* 
and cognac. 

Mine host was a keen observer, and long experience enabled him to 
diagnose with considerable accuracy the state of mind of the bellig* 
erents who sought shelter and refreshment under his roof before the 
fray. He knew that assumed jollity and recklessness often hide a 
quaking heart, and that the man of quiet demeanor was more likely 
to prove a dangerous antagonist than he who bragged loudly of his 
contempt for death and of his delight in the fierce joy of battle. 

Yere he pronounced at once to be one of the right sort, and was 
correspondingly attentive and obsequious, rising with, or before the 
lark, in order to attend personally at the breakfast-table, and accom- 
panying his guests to the carriage that was to convey them to the 
rendezvous. 

“ Au plaisir de vous revoir. messieurs, I shall take the liberty of 
preparing a nice little dejeuner in case it suits your convenience to 
return here after your promenade,” he said, with a significant glance 
at the case of pistols that Jack was carrying under his arm. “My 
rooms also will be at your disposal should you see fit to prolong your 
visit, and my wife is an excellent nurse.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” replied Jack, “but we hope not to need her 
services. By-the-way, that reminds me the doctor promised to drive 
with us this morning. Just tell the coachman to call at the address 
you gave me last night. You are sure that he is a skilful surgeon 
and a man of discretion?” 

“ Assuredly, monsieur. He has seen service with the army; and, 
as for his discretion, I will vouch for him as for myself.” 

“All right, then we’re ready to start,” said Jack, taking his seat 
beside Yere, who was waiting impatiently for this colloquy to finish. 

The noisy rattle of the wheels over the uneven pavement made 
conversation a physical impossibility until the vehicle drew up at 
the doctor’s residence, a few hundred yards outside the village and 
in close proximity to the railway-station. 

“I hope he won’t keep us waiting,” remarked Yere, pulling out 
his watch. “It’s half -past five already, and I don’t want to be 
late.” 

“There’s lots of time. I questioned the little man about it last 
night, and he says the place appointed by M. de Malsherbes’ friend 
is not more than half an hour’s drive from here,” replied Jack, spring- 
ing out to ring at the bell. Then, r< turning to the carriage window, 
he continued, “ There’s the Paris train just teaming in. I shouldn’t 
wonder if they are in it, and if so, we shall be there before them. 
Ah, here’s the doctor.” 

As he spoke a brisk little man in semi-military attire bustled down 
the front garden. 

“Good-morning, gentlemen, ” he cried, courteously returning the 
young men’s salutation. “You are punctual. That is a virtue that 
I as an ancien militaire es ;eem, particularly on these occasions.” 
r “Take a seat, doctor, ? ad let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. 
Yere Danvers,” said Jacl . 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


183 


“ Delighted to make his acquaintance. Shall I instruct the coach- 
man where to drive us?” 

“ I think he knows; but there’s no harm in telling him again.” 

Accordingly the little doctor put his head out of the window and 
directed the driver to the Avenue de la Croix, the spot agreed upon 
between the seconds as the scene of the combat. 

The man grinned and touched his hat, and after many whip-crack* 
ings and objurgations, the cumbrous vehicle was again set in mo< 
tion along the road that led to the forest. 

It was a lovely morning in early spring. The air was bright and 
crisp, and the night dews still sparkled on the fresh green foliage of 
the trees, and depended in heavy drops from the luxuriant under- 
growth that bordered the grassy ride down which they were labori- 
ously progressing. Comparative silence had succeeded the deafen- 
ing rattle and rumble of their vehicle on the hard high-road, and the 
driver’s Roup-la! Allez! Hee! as he guided his smoking steeds from 
one series of ruts into another, formed a not unpleasant accompani- 
ment to the jingling of the harness and the artistically administered 
coups de fouet. As they advanced deeper into the forest, Yere, ea- 
gerly drinking in the sweet sights and sounds of Nature, perhaps for 
the last time, watched with a heavy heart the agile squirrels spring- 
ing from branch to branch, and timid rabbits scuttering into their 
burrows. The gay, clear song of the lark, the soft coe-coe of the 
■wood - pigeon, even the clatter of the magpies, disturbed at their 
morning’s conclave, sounded with a tender melancholy in his ear. 
Happier far seemed the lot of even the most insignificant of Nature’s 
creatures than that of her so-called noblest work — man. They 
could kill or be killed in fulfilment of their natural instinct without 
sin or remorse. No dread of the unknown Hereafter, nor torturing 
anxieties for the dear ones left behind, accompanied their violent exit 
from life into death. No curse of Cain remained to haunt the rep- 
resentative of the survival of the fittest. 

So absorbed was Yere id his painful meditations, that he scarce 
heard, and certainly paid no attention to, the string of anecdotes, 
mainly relating to affairs of honor, with which the martially-minded 
doctor imagined that he was entertaining his companions. We say 
imagined, because his other listener, Jack, was not sufficiently mas- 
ter of the language to catch the meaning of a tithe of the narrator’s 
valuable utterances. 

At length the carriage came to a stand at the entrance to a tolera- 
bly wide clearing, in the centre of which stood a battered wooden 
cross, mounted on a pile of stones. 

“A la bonne heure!” cried the doctor. “Here we are, arrived at 
last. And I think, gentlemen, you will allow that a sweeter spot for 
our little business never existed." Here you have everything that could 
be desired. Quiet, seclusion, fresh air, and a charming outlook.” 

“The others don’t appear to have come yet, ’’said Jack, descend- 
ing and stretching his legs. 

“They are not far behind, ” replied the other. “Listen! Don’t 
you hear the crack of a whip? They are coming by the other road. 


184 


IP LOVE BE LOVE. 


Doubtless these gentlemen slept at Dame-Marie, which is almost as 
near as Yilleneuve, but on the other side of the forest.” 

As he spoke another carriage appeared in sight, and pulled up at 
the farther end of the avenue. 

Two gentlemen descended, one remaining in conversation with the 
coachman, while the other advanced, hat in hand, to meet Jack, who, 
with the pistols under his arms and accompanied by the doctor, had 
strolled leisurely up to the cross. 

What seemed to Vere a colloquy of interminable duration inter- 
vened. Mechanically he looked on, while Jack and the stranger 
measured out the distance at which the antagonists were to stand. 
All sense of presentness and personality had deserted him. He felt 
no fear, nor even anxiety, as to the result of the conflict. It all 
seemed like a dream, and the calm indifference of the dreamer who 
feels himself hurled over precipices, or torn by wild beasts, without 
moving an eyelid or uttering a cry, had come over him. 

Presently Jack returned towards him with a pale, serious face. 
After bidding the coachman withdraw out of sight and hearing, 
Jack turned to his friend. “Are you ready, old man?” he asked, 
hastily. 

Yere stared for a moment vacantly at him, and then, with a sigh of 
awakening consciousness, nodded assent. 

“ Turn up your collar and aim low, ’’said Jack, in a hoarse whis- 
per as he wrung Yere’s hand. “ Have you anything more to say, in 
case of — accidents?” 

Yere’s heart gave a great bound as he now fully realized that this 
was no dream, but a dread reality of bloodshed in which he was to 
enact a part. Mastering his emotion, he replied, gently, “Nothing 
but to thank you for your great kindness and your promise to look 
after my poor wife. Tell her I forgave her.” 

“God bless you, old man — I will, ’’said Jack, as he handed Yere 
his weapon and walked beside him to place him on his ground. 

Simultaneously, the vicomte moved forward, accompanied by his 
second. But before the adversaries had reached their appointed sta- 
tions, a sound was heard that caused all to pause and look round. 

Down the ride at full speed came a third vehicle ; beside the driver 
sat Charlie Danvers, urging on the horses and shouting at the top of 
his voice, wflflle at the window appeared a female face, which Jack 
Holdsworth instantly recognized in spite of its deathly pallor and 
strained expression; 

“By Jove! It’s Psyche herself. How on earth did she get here?” 
he cried, excitedly. Then, without waiting for Yere’s reply, he dash- 
ed off to meet the new arrivals. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


185 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“ Earthlier happy is the rose distilled 
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn 
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.” 

Shakespeare. 

“The French say that ‘it is always the unexpected that arrives,’ 
and you are a living proof of it,” remarked Jack gayly as he helped 
Psyche to alight, and felt her cold, little hand trembling in his. Sur- 
prise had thrown him off his guard. Wounded dignity, offended 
pride, the despair itself that had led him to vow eternal hatred 
against his heartless divinity, all were forgotten in the joy of this un- 
expected meeting. Her presence here appeared as an omen of good 
to him, and both voice and manner betrayed what he felt. 

In spite of her terrible anxiety and excitement, the girl’s heart 
thrilled with happiness at the knowledge that it was still in her pow- 
er to make amends for her former unkindness. A faint color rose 
to her cheeks, her eyes drooped beneath his eager, questioning gaze, 
and to hide her confusion she turned her head towards the amazed 
combatants, who stood their ground awaiting the explanation of 
this unforeseen interruption. “Thank God, we are here in time,” 
she said, in a voice quivering with emotion. “But why doesn’t 
Vere come and speak to me? Mr. Holdsworth, please bring him 
here at once.” 

Jack hesitated. “It’s a little awkward, don’t you know, to ask a 
man to turn his back on an enemy when they are met in fair fight. ” 

‘ ‘ But I tell you there is nothing to fight about. Carmen is safe 
in London, and M. de Malsherbes had nothing to do with her disap- 
pearance,” cried Psyche, impetuously. “Here, Charlie — Mr. Holds- 
worth seems inclined to doubt my word ; perhaps he may believe 
you.” 

“It’s true enough what she says,” replied her brother, apologet- 
ically. 

Jack’s blood was up, and he felt that, having gone so far, it would 
be no easy matter to withdraw his man from the field without com- 
promising his dignity. However, he could not resist Psyche’s ur- 
gent request ; and as she was evidently prepared to take the affair in 
hand herself in case of his refusal, he stalked solemnly off to com- 
municate the news to the vicomte’s second. This gentleman, a for- 
mer college-mate of the vicomte’s, had— in the course of his career 
as a political journalist — found it advisable to seek refuge on the 
shores of la perfide Albion from the too- pressing attentions of the 
Imperial police, and while there had devoted his mind to the study 
of “ Engleesh as she is spoke.” Consequently, although his knowl- 


186 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


edge of colloquial English was, to say the least of it, superficial, he 
had from the first intimated his readiness to carry on the negotiations 
in that language, much to Jack’s relief. Thus far all had been pretty 
plain sailing, and any conversational chasms they had encountered 
had been bridged over by signs, accompanied by a “ Comprenez?” 
from Jack, and an “All right, as you will,” from the other — who 
during his sojourn among us had imbibed a great respect for the 
gentilhomme Anglais. Now, however, Jack’s hurried and slightly 
confused narration of what had happened utterly overtasked the 
Frenchman’s powers. But being too proud to confess his ignorance, 
and too polite to refuse the lady’s evident desire to have speech with 
his friend’s adversary, he contented himself with bowing and saying, 
“All right — go on, sir;” and then, turning to the vicomte, he invent- 
ed such explanations as seemed most plausible under the circum- 
stances, and retired with him to their carriage to await the course of 
events. 

When Jack, on his way to parley with the enemy, had whispered 
to his friend, “Carmen is safe, and the vicomte as innocent as a 
new-born babe,” Vere had heard the words with his outer ears, but 
for the moment they conveyed no meaning to his understanding. 
His nerves were strung to a pitch of almost unbearable tension ; and 
although externally calm, so intense was his mental perturbation that 
the arrival on the scene of Psyche and her brother had caused noth- 
ing but a dazed sense of wonderment not unmixed with impatience 
at the prospect of further delay. He felt like a condemned convict 
with the rope around his neck, to whom each moment that intervenes 
between the final arrangements and the falling of the fatal drop is 
an eternity of agony. 

It was not until he stood face to face with his favorite cousin and 
heard her reiterate the astounding intelligence that he was able to 
grasp the facts of the situation. Then, when it slowly dawned upon 
him that his dearly-loved wife was unharmed and blameless, that all 
the tortures of mind which he had suffered were self-invented and 
needless, and that there was no longer any call for him to purge his 
honor with blood, the sense of relief was almost overpowering. Nev- 
ertheless, he succeeded in maintaining his outward bearing of com- 
posure; and although his eyes were dim and his voice trembled as 
he grasped Psyche’s hand and whispered, gratefully, “ God bless you, 
my guardian angel,” he was able to give his attention to Jack’s re- 
quest that they should immediately hold a council of war to decide 
their course of action with regard to the arrested duel. 

“ I don’t see what there is to decide,” cried Psyche. “You chal- 
lenged M. de Malsherbes because you believed that he had injured 
you. Now you find that you were mistaken; all that you have to 
do is to offer your humble apologies and shake hands and be friends.” 

“Oh, upright judge — most learned judge! A second Daniel,” 
cried Yere, gayly. “ But you are doubtless unaware that, according 
to the immutable laws of the duello, I, personally, have no voice in 
the matter. I can only act through my friend and second.” 

“ Well, Mr. Holdsworth heard what I said, and is, I presume, gift- 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


187 


ed with sufficient penetration and common-sense to see the force of 
it. Let him eat your humble pie for you if you like,” rejoined the 
girl, with a roguish glance in Jack’s direction. 

But our lieutenant had had time to recover himself, and felt in- 
clined to stand somewhat upon his dignity. Besides, he was not a 
little nettled by the calm manner in which Psyche had assumed the 
direction of affairs, and the free-and-easy tone she adopted with ref- 
erence to so serious and formal a subject. So he shook his head 
gravely as he replied, with a smile of superior wisdom, “I think 
Miss Danvers is a little out of her element, pardonably so, for natu- 
rally the rules of duelling do not form part of a young lady’s polite 
education.” 

“ Nor of those of an English gentleman,” retorted Psyche, warm- 
ly. “I held a better opinion of you, Mr. Holdsworth, than to believe 
that you would have encouraged these brutal and outlandish prac- 
tices. For Vere possibly there was some excuse, since he was mad- 
dened by a sense of his imaginary wrongs ; but for you to act as his 
aider and abettor, I consider simply scandalous.” 

“My dear Psyche, ’interrupted Yere, “you forget that it was at 
my urgent entreaty that Mr. Holdsworth kindly consented to be my 
second, and see me through with this unpleasant affair. Besides, you 
must remember that we are in France, where duelling — ” 

“Don’t trouble to stand up for me, Danvers,” said Jack, bitterly; 
“ your cousin always was hard upon me, and always will be, I sup- 
pose.” 

He looked so unhappy as he spoke that the girl’s righteous indig- 
nation suffered a considerable relapse. Still, she felt that he ought 
not to be let off too easily, so she continued in a milder tone : ‘ ‘ There 
you’re wrong again, Mr. Holdsworth. Whatever I may have been in 
the past, I have no wish to be hard upon you now; and if you will 
undertake to bring matters to a satisfactory conclusion, without any 
unnecessary delay, I will forgive you for your share in this foolish 
and wicked transaction.” 

During this tirade Jack had been looking sullenly on the ground. 
To say truth, now that he considered his conduct from her point of 
view, he was more than half ashamed of himself, for what would 
have been his feelings had she arrived too late to avert bloodshed? 
None the less he felt bound to protest against this feminine interfer- 
ence in so purely masculine an affair. “What do women know or 
care about honor?” he was about to ask scornfully, when something 
in her voice led him to raise his eyes to hers. What he read in her 
glance we cannot exactly explain, but it had the effect of disarming 
his pride and making him feel, as he told her afterwards when they 
were alone, “that it was rather pleasant than otherwise to be scold- 
ed by some people.” And when she, smiling up at him, demanded 
an explanation of this phenomenal state of mind, he retorted, still 
more enigmatically, “Because, don’t you know, it proves that the 
scolder takes an interest in you; and if she happens to be somebody 
you love — well, don’t you know, it’s nice to feel that you were mis- 
taken when you thought she didn’t care a brass farthing what be- 


188 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


came of you.” To which Psyche’s only reply was a happy laugh, 
and another of those indescribable glances which sufficed to raise 
the lieutenant’s spirits to boiling-point. But we are anticipating. 

Jack, being reduced to submission, raised no further difficulties 
with regard to opening negotiations with the enemy’s camp, and 
Psyche volunteered to accompany him, as being most fitted to fur- 
nish a detailed explanation of the events which had led her cousin 
to challenge the vicomte, and of his reasons for now wishing to 
withdraw from it. 

The charm of her presence was not without its influence in decid- 
ing the vicomte’s friend; and although he found his principal still 
disposed to insist upon fighting the quarrel out with the man 
whom, by some curious mental curvature, he persisted in regarding 
as his enemy and rival, the joint efforts of the two seconds pre- 
vailed, and M. de Malsherbes was at last induced to accept Vere’s 
apology. 

It is scarcely necessary to give a detailed account of the sayings 
and doings of the merry party that assembled at the well-spread ta- 
ble of the “ Trois Ecus” an hour later. Having despatched reas- 
suring telegrams to Carmen, his father, and Mademoiselle Delaforet, 
Yere gave himself up to the enjoyment of the luxury of perfect re- 
lief and light-hearted gayety after a long paroxysm of mental an- 
guish. Psyche had her own reasons for feeling contented and 
happy, and, strange to say, although neither confessed to it iu so 
many words, they were the same that caused Master Jack to over- 
flow with mirth and good spirits to such an extent that the natu- 
rally serious and sober-minded Charlie caught the infection and 
laughed and joked with the best of them. The only discontented 
face was that of the doctor, whom they had invited to the dejeuner 
by way of compensation for the loss of his expected * ‘ case.” Apart 
from professional considerations, the bellicose little man felt it al- 
most like a personal insult that the combatants should have sepa- 
rated without exchanging fire. “Sacre femme 9a gUte tout,” he 
growled to himself w T hen Yere politely informed him that the dis- 
pute was accommodated, and his services would no longer be called 
into requisition. However, that did not prevent him from accepting 
the invitation, and, by working hard at the comestibles, he gradual- 
ly ate and drank himself into a better temper. 

Naturally, Vere was all impatience to see Carmen again; and as 
there was nothing to detain them at Yilleneuve, the happy quartette 
caught the mid-day train back to Paris and thence on by the night 
mail to London without breaking the journey. 

The meeting between the young husband and wife can better be 
imagined than described. As she hung weeping on his neck and 
thanked God a thousand times for having restored her dear one to 
her safe and sound, Carmen informed Yere of her father’s death, 
which had taken place on the very day of Psyche’s departure. 
“Poor dear; he died in his sleep, quite quietly and without pain,” 
she cried, her sorrow momentarily overcoming the joy she felt at 
being once more under the protection of her husband’s strong arm. 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


189 


“The doctors say it was heart disease and general exhaustion of 
the system, caused by severe privation. And the excitement of see- 
ing me again, added to the fatigue of the journey, brought on a 
crisis. Dear soul ! They say that, in any case, he could not have 
lived many months; but to think of his dying without seeing you 
and knowing how happy his daughter is.” 

Vere strove to console her as best he could, and, before long, had 
the satisfaction of bringing her to a calmer frame of mind. The 
blow, severely as she felt it at the time, was softened by the joy at- 
tendant upon her reunion with her husband and the anticipation, 
which was likely soon to be realized, of her becoming a proud 
mother. 

The funeral of Monsieur Mendes was conducted as quietly and 
speedily as possible. Charlie was wanted down at Danverfield, and 
as Carmen insisted upon accompanying her father’s remains to the 
cemetery, Psyche kindly volunteered to remain behind and go with 
her. The only other mourners were Vere and Jack Holdsworth, 
the latter having altered his mind with regard to his projected visit 
to the south of France. He had come to the conclusion that the air 
of England was best suited to his complaint, which had entered on 
an entirely new phase since his meeting with Psyche. 

This sad duty being disposed of, it only remained for Vere to 
conduct his wife on the long promised visit to Danverfield. But 
here an unforeseen difficulty arose, as Carmen, in the hurry of her 
departure, had left the bulk of her luggage behind her at the chalet. 
Consequently she had to write to Mademoiselle Delaforet to ask her 
to forward her clothes, and until they arrived she was unable to start. 

Meanwhile Psyche received such urgent messages from her un- 
cle, expressing a wish for her immediate return, that at last she de- 
cided to precede her cousin and his wife. 

“ You’ve no idea how fidgety your father has become since his 
accident,” she said when Vere tried to persuade her to wait and ac- 
company them. ‘ ‘ And I know he won’t be easy in his mind till he 
has it from me that all is satisfactorily settled.” 

“ But surely Charlie will have explained—” 

“I dare say he has, but that’s not enough. Uncle pins his faith 
on me; I’m sure I don’t know why, but the fact remains,” laughed 
the girl. 

Jack Holdsworth was standing near her, and remarked in an un- 
dertone, “I see nothing remarkable in that, I do the same myself.” 

“Let us hope it isn’t a sign that you, too, are approaching your 
dotage,” she replied, maliciously; then, turning to her cousin, “If 
you don’t mind, I will write to say that I shall go down by the ten- 
o’clock train to-morrow morning.” 

* * I’m going north to-morrow to my uncle’s, and shall be pleased 
to escort Miss Danvers, ” interrupted Jack, boldly. 

“What a lucky coincidence,” said Vere, with a meaning smile. 

Psyche said nothing, but turned with a heightened color to Car- 
men, who was listening with all her ears to the conversation, being 
anxious to perfect herself in English as speedily as possible. “You 


190 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


won’t mind travelling with Yere alone?” Psyche asked, by way of 
saying something. 

“Oh no,” replied Carmen; “with him I would go anywhere. 
But tell me what is coincidence?” 

The girl thought a moment. “ It means two unforeseen events 
happening at the same time. ” 

“Not necessarily unforeseen, ” laughed Y ere. ‘ ‘ Accidentally done 
on purpose best describes some coincidences.” 

Carmen shook her head, thoroughly mystified. “ I understand 
Psyche better than you, ” she said. 

“So does Jack,” replied Yere, while Jack grinned, and Psyche 
tried to look sternly unconscious of his meaning. 

Whether Yere’s insinuations had aroused Psyche’s sense of femi- 
nine dignity, or whether it was due to another revulsion in her feel- 
ings towards him, Jack could not tell, but during their journey north- 
ward the girl was colder and more formal in her bearing than she 
had been since their meeting at Yilleneuve. Having secured a com- 
partment to themselves, Master Jack had determined to take advan- 
tage of this favorable opportunity for once more urging his suit; and, 
judging from various indications, he hoped this time to carry the at- 
tack to a successful issue. But even a forlorn hope to succeed must 
be directed against a breach, or some weak point in the enemy’s de- 
fences, and on this occasion he could discover none. Psyche was 
scrupulously polite and friendly, and kept up the conversation on 
any and every subject that presented itself with unusual vivacity ; but 
whenever Jack tried to give it a more intimate and personal turn she 
adroitly tripped him up, and led it off at a tangent, so that at last, in 
mingled rage and despair, he lapsed into a gloomy silence. 

Had he been the wariest of campaigners, Jack could not have 
adopted tactics more disconcerting to his fair adversary. Psyche 
felt that, for both of them to sit gazing mumchance out of window, 
would be not only embarrassing, but likely to lead to the explanation 
that she foresaw and half dreaded; and yet how to keep up a mono- 
logue during the remainder of the journey? For all her assumed 
self-possession, the girl’s heart was beating quite as fast as her lov- 
er’s. Almost for the first time in her life, she felt nervous and un- 
comfortable in a tete-drtete with one of the opposite sex, and, worse 
than all, seemed not to know her own mind. That Jack loved her 
deeply and sincerely she had no doubt, and she was equally convinced 
that her heart had gone out to meet his; and yet, while expecting 
and longing for the words that would seal her fate, she felt an anx- 
ious desire to postpone to the last moment the surrender of her lib- 
erty. To her strong and somewhat masculine nature there was 
something repellent in the idea of the marriage-tie. Its mysteries 
and solemnities terrified her virgin imagination, and the thought that 
it entailed duties and responsibilities that, once accepted, could not 
be shirked, made her ask herself tremblingly if she was capable of 
fulfilling them worthily, and if love alone was sufficient compensa- 
tion for the sacrifice of the freedom of thought and action that had 
hitherto been her chief delight and pride? 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


191 


She was aroused from her troubled cogitation by Jack pulling out 
his watch and remarking, in a sarcastic voice, “You will be glad to 
hear that we are due in less than a quarter of an hour.” 

“Why glad?” asked Psyche, taken off her guard. 

“Well, you don’t seem to be enjoying the journey much in my so- 
ciety.” 

“Now Mr. Holdsworth — ” 

“Don’t apologize, pray. It’s rather for me to do so for having 
thrust my unwelcome presence upon you. I was a blind idiot, and 
that’s the plain truth.” 

“If you go on like that against yourself, I shall have to take up 
the cudgels in your defence,” said Psyche, striving to assume a gay 
tone, although she felt the dreaded moment was at hand. 

“Nothing you can say will convince me to the contrary,” replied 
Jack, with a mournful decision that almost made her laugh. “ Not 
content with having my wings singed twice, and pretty handsomely 
too, I must needs come fluttering round the candle again.” 

“ Well, perhaps that wasn’t over wise; but I hope you don’t blame 
the poor candle?” And here, for the life of her, she couldn’t resist 
the temptation of looking into his face with a mischievous smile. 

“Yes I do,” said Jack, savagely; “for this time you came after 
me just when I thought I was getting over my folly so nicely too.” 

“ I’m so sorry, but I really couldn’t help it. How was I to know 
that you would be with Yere at that outlandish place?” 

“No, of course it wasn’t your fault, and you mustn’t take any no- 
tice of what I say. I’ve no right to bore you with my troubles.” 

Psyche’s eyes filled with tears ; he looked so sad, poor fellow, and 
spoke so nobly. “They don’t bore me at all,” she said softly, for- 
getting her fears, and yielding blindly to the impulses of her affection. 

“I was a fool to go on hoping against hope,” continued Jack, in- 
specting his boots. 

“I don’t think so;” and then, as the full significance of her words 
flashed across her mind she blushed crimson, and gazed earnestly 
out of the window, almost hoping that he had not caught them. 

But Jack’s ears were quick. He looked up, and, seizing both her 
hands, forced her to look him in the face. “Do you really mean 
what you say?” 

Their eyes met, and that glance set Psyche’s wavering doubts at 
rest. “Yes,” she said, “ if you will have it so.” 

At that moment the train pulled up at a station, and before Jack 
had time to do more than press a loving kiss on her lips, Charlie 
Danvers appeared at the carriage door. 

“ Oh, here you are, you two,” he cried. “ Why, Psyche, you look 
as if you had forgotten your destination; have you been asleep?” 

“Perhaps I have,” laughed his sister, recovering her self-posses- 
sion, “and you disturbed me in a most delicious dream.” 

“Well, I must say that’s a polite way of treating Mr. Holds- 
worth.” 

“Oh, never mind me, Charlie; I’m used to hardships. Besides, I 
may tell you in coufideuce that, if your sister was dreaming, so was 


192 


IF LOVE BE LOVE. 


I,” replied Jack, as he turned to escort Psyche to the Danverfiel 1 
carriage, leaving the conveniently obtuse Charlie to collect and fol- 
low with their impedimenta. 

Three days later Yere and his wife arrived at Danverfield, and the 
long-deferred reconciliation took place between father and son. For- 
giveness, like mercy, “ blesseth him that gives and him that takes,” 
and, under the influence of his new-found happiness, the old squire’s 
acerbity of temper almost disappeared. His antipathy to foreigners 
likewise received its death-blow on Carmen’s first appearance, and 
before long, her warm, affectionate nature and little, winning graces 
made the old man her most devoted admirer. 

As a matter of course, kind old Mrs. Danvers was transported to 
the seventh heaven by this accession to her family party, and the 
early prospect of yet another arrival. In fact, Carmen was petted and 
made so much of, that Psyche playfully declared herself quite jealous. 

“Well, my dear, you’ve no reason to complain. A little bird has 
whispered in my ear that a certain Mr. Jack — staying not a hundred 
miles from here — means to carry you off nolens volens, and so I 
think it wiser to get on with the new love before the old one takes 
wing,” said her uncle. 

“ That naughty boy has not kept his promise. I particularly or- 
dered him to keep our engagement a secret till I gave him leave to 
tell,” cried Psyche, indignantly. 

‘ ‘ Oh, then it is an engagement ! I’m awfully glad to hear it. 
Jack’s a real good fellow,” said Yere, warmly. 

“You didn’t know, then?” 

“Ho, we only suspected. From what my boy told me, and from 
the young gentleman’s assiduous visits, we thought mischief was 
brewing, but that was all ; but now, out of your own mouth you 
stand condemned,” chuckled the squire. 

“Well, since I have discovered the sort of treatment that awaits 
me here, I sha’n’t keep the poor boy any longer in doubt and un- 
certainty, and if he comes to-day, I shall tell him that he may ask your 
blessing and write to my father for his sanction to our engagement.” 

“And I’ll answer for both. A young man who goes as well to 
hounds as he does is bound to make a good husband. Moreover, I 
shall tell him that the sooner he begins getting you broken to 
double harness the better,” replied her uncle, in high glea^ 

“ I, too, shall have a counsel to offer him,” said Yere, taking his 
cousin’s hand and pressing it affectionately — “one of which I have 
learned the truth by my own experience.” 

“ And that is?” asked Psyche. 

‘“In Love— if Love be Love, if Love be ours, 

Faith and Lnfaith can ne’er be equal powers. 

Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all,’ ” 

quoted Yere. 

“Jack stands in no need of that,” replied Psyche, confidently, 
“He swears that he loves me ‘ all in all ’—and I believe him,” 


THE END. 


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STORMONTH’S ENGLISH DICTIONARY. 

A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
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Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Phelp, M.A. pp. 1248. 
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